


Secrets and Prayers

by Northernsociety



Category: American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Era, Caring George Washington, Dreams and Nightmares, Eventual Fluff, Feelings Realization, First Kiss, Historical Figures, Hurt Alexander Hamilton, Lams - Freeform, M/M, Religion, Secret Crush, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:56:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 22,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27656494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Northernsociety/pseuds/Northernsociety
Summary: Alexander is coming to realise something about his friendship with John Laurens, but his life is turned upside down when he is forced to do something unconscionable in the name of survival. With Washington the only witness to his secret, Alexander distances himself from everyone else, working harder than ever just to forget.Also known as: a Lams slow burn with lots of hurt/comfort and angst and a caring George Washington who just wants to help his boys.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton & George Washington, Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens
Comments: 58
Kudos: 127





	1. Chapter 1

Alexander shudders under John’s touch – firm hands kneading the muscles in his aching shoulder.

‘Alex, you have to look after yourself,’ says John, digging the heel of his hand into a particularly stubborn knot. The pain radiates up into Alexander’s jaw – a stabbing sensation that almost makes him flinch away, but he persists in allowing John to work at the tight muscle.

He is shirtless, lying face down on his bedroll, John straddling his back. He can feel strong thighs on either side of his waist, but he tries not to think about that. Instead, he focusses on the pain that John is eliciting from him as he digs strong fingers into taut flesh. He hopes it bruises.

‘Any better?’ asks John, shifting his weight so Alexander can roll out his shoulders. Joints and tendons crack and pop as he does so, and John tuts at him. ‘You’re worse than an old man.’

‘At least I get to experience the joys of old age one way or another,’ replies Alexander, groaning as John rolls off him. ‘The way this war is going, I’m not sure I’ll get the authentic experience.’

‘Don’t say that,’ says John, digging him in the ribs. ‘God might take you seriously one of these days.’

Alexander pushes himself onto his side, propped up on one elbow, so he can see John’s face. ‘Do you really believe in all of that?’

‘I haven’t really thought about it. It’s just what I’ve grown up with. Do you?’

‘I don’t think so,’ replies Alexander. ‘I can’t bring myself to say for definite, but if there is a divine power, he is not always kind.’

‘I’ve seen you pray at night,’ says John and Alexander blushes. He had not been aware of his tent-mate observing him as he knelt at the foot of his bedroll when sleep was hard to come by. Both John’s expression and tone remain completely without judgement, but Alexander feels exposed.

He looks around for his shirt, the night air suddenly chilly on his bare skin. It is on the other side of John, and as he stretches out to grab it, he is surprised to feel strong fingers around his wrist.

‘I’m not making fun,’ says John. ‘It was merely an observation.’

‘Ok,’ says Alexander, trying to match John’s casual tone. John’s fingers remain curled around him, warm from their efforts on his shoulder moments ago. He tries not to shiver at the contact, but it is impossible when combined with the intensity of John’s gaze.

‘Are you cold?’ asks John. Alexander nods – it is not really a lie. John is hesitating and Alexander does not dare to guess what the other boy is thinking. Instead, he waits at John’s mercy.

It feels like a lifetime before John loosens his grip and Alexander is able to reach across him for the white cotton lying bundled at the side. His skin still tingles where John’s hand had been only moments ago.

He pulls his shirt over his head, trying to ignore John’s eyes on him as he fiddles with buttons and fastenings.

‘Must you go tonight?’ asks John.

‘I’m sorry, John,’ says Alexander, reaching for his boots. ‘It is important work.’

‘You say that every night.

‘And it’s true,’ says Alexander.

‘But surely General Washington knows it’s unreasonable to keep you so late every evening?’

‘There’s a war on, dear John. I’m afraid we don’t get to dictate the timetable.’

‘I know,’ sighs John, flopping back down onto his own bedroll. ‘I just wish I could see you for more than half an hour. Lafayette is nowhere near as much fun.’

‘I can wake you when I come back,’ teases Alexander. ‘You’ll be less desperate for my attention then.’

‘I would relish it,’ replies John in a low voice, his eyes dark. Alexander’s pulse quickens at the thought of waking John – perhaps slipping under the blankets with him to share warmth.

‘Fine,’ says Alexander, trying to keep his tone casual. ‘Whatever you want.’

***

The General is in a strange mood tonight – melancholy and thoughtful. There is not usually much time for talk about anything other than war, but between drafts and dictations, Alexander picks up a despondency that is unusual in Washington.

‘I’m so tired of praying, dear boy,’ sighs Washington. ‘We work and we pray and we are still no further forward.’

Alexander considers this for a moment.

‘But we are not losing, sir. We have a long way to go, but nothing is achieved without hard work.’

‘And perhaps a bit of divine intervention?’

‘Perhaps,’ says Alexander, wondering how he has come to be discussing God for the second time in one evening. ‘But hard work is the most important of all.’

‘Do you believe that?’

‘Yes,’ says Alexander simply. Washington looks at him, his eyes seeking further explanation. ‘If there is a God watching over us – ‘

‘Do you doubt it?’

‘Everything must be held to scrutiny, sir. Everything must be examined.’

‘Go on…’

‘Well, if he is watching over us, then he would not give anything away for free. He must see that we are trying.’

Washington grunts – a noise of reluctant agreement. He folds his arms across his chest and furrows his brow.

‘Will you ride out with me tomorrow, Hamilton?’

‘Of course, sir. Where are we going?’

‘I want to check out a potential new headquarters about fifteen miles north of here. The location would be more advantageous, so I’ve heard.’

‘Is it worth relocating the whole camp just fifteen miles north?’ asks Hamilton.

‘We must be seen to be trying, my boy,’ replies Washington, leaning forward across his desk. ‘I believe you’ve just said so yourself.’

Alexander nods. He can hardly disagree with the logic and he will not be sad to spend a day away from his desk, giving his hand and wrist a much-needed rest from penning Washington’s correspondence all day long.

‘Get some sleep,’ says Washington, dismissing him with a casual wave of his hand. ‘I’ll send orders for our horses to be ready an hour after sunrise.’

***

Alexander slips back into the tent, trying to be quiet until he remembers his earlier promise to John. He grins as he allows himself to relax and make a bit more noise as he pulls of his boots and lets his thick jacket fall to the floor.

John murmurs in his sleep, pulling the coarse blankets over his head in protest. Alexander begins to hum a jovial tune that feels so wrong in the silent darkness, but it makes him laugh to see John wriggle further beneath the blankets.

‘Wake up, John,’ he whispers with a giggle. ‘Spend some quality time with me?’

John grunts in response, an endearing sleepy noise that he repeats several times as Alexander tugs at the covers.

‘Go away, ‘Lex,’ he mutters, his voice thick with sleep.

‘That’s not what you were saying earlier,’ chuckles Alexander. ‘So fickle, Mr Laurens. You wanted me earlier, but now you’re telling me to go away. Such bad treatment of your old friend.’

John emerges from the bundle of material, squinting in the soft candlelight. ‘I didn’t mean it.’

‘I know, I know,’ shushes Alexander. ‘I’m just joking.’

‘Come here,’ says John, lifting a corner of the blanket and patting the space beside him.

‘It’s alright,’ replies Alexander, his heart thumping in an impossible rhythm at the thought. ‘Go back to sleep. I was just teasing you.’

‘Please, Alex,’ whispers John. His hair is delightfully sleep-ruffled and Alexander can see faint imprints of makeshift pillow on his cheek. He desperately wants to touch.

‘If you’re sure…’

He crawls into the space John has made for him, trying not to squirm in delight as John’s arm snakes across his waist to pull him closer. Their legs twine together as if it is the most natural thing in the world. Alexander is suddenly self-conscious of the fact his pulse is twice its normal rate, the blood rushing in his ears as they settle together in the nighttime stillness. Surely John can feel his heartbeat?

Sleep feels impossible, but soon Alexander is drifting, warm and content in John’s arms. When he shuffles slightly to get more comfortable, John’s arm tightens instinctively around him. Whether or not John is asleep and it is a reflex, he does not know, but a feeling of joy and anticipation burns low in his stomach.

Somehow, he has never shared a bed with John until tonight. While it is common for soldiers to share body heat in the colder months, John and Alexander have always shied away from the idea of sharing with each other. And it is not because they aren’t close. As sleep drags him under, Alexander wonders if it has been because they are _too_ close.

For the first time in as long as he can remember, he falls asleep fast and deep and does not wake until the first rays of sun are spilling over the horizon. He does not want to extract himself from the comfort and contentment of John’s embrace, but duty is calling. Washington will be waiting. With a sigh, he lifts John’s arm, limp and heavy with sleep, and wriggles out of the heavenly warmth.

***

Washington is waiting for him as he crunches his way across the frosty path to the stables. Alexander’s horse – a magnificent grey with a sorrowful expression in its brown eyes – is already saddled and tied to the fence.

‘Morning, son,’ says Washington as he approaches and pats the creature on the neck. Alexander flinches at the term of endearment but he doesn’t say anything. He does not want to sully his good mood with painful discussions about his past.

‘Morning, sir,’ he replies with a courteous nod. The stableboy rounds the corner with Washington’s own mount – an impressive black warhorse with a shiny coat that looks even more stunning in the weak morning sun. ‘Shall we?’

They both mount and head out of camp, the pace slow and leisurely. It is a pleasant morning, despite the frost, and Alexander finds himself in ridiculously high spirits. He drinks in the scenery, appreciating the crispness of the air and the autumnal beauty that surrounds them.

‘It should be a fairly clear ride,’ says Washington as they head into the forest. ‘There has been no activity in this area for a few weeks, so I wouldn’t expect any trouble.’

Alexander feels the weight of his pistol in its pouch on his belt. He had toyed with bringing something more heavy duty, but weapons in camp are in short supply. He had not wanted to risk damaging or losing anything else on a relatively short, uncomplicated journey that does not involve crossing enemy lines. A quick glance at Washington tells him he had the same thought process. He too has only brought a pistol.

‘You seem happy this morning,’ says Washington as they make progress through the forest, the trees thickening the farther they walk. Alexander hopes his cheeks don’t look as warm as they feel.

‘It’s nice to get out of camp,’ he says lightly. ‘And it’s a very pleasant morning.’

Washington chuckles. It is a low rumbling sound that vibrates deep in his chest – it is a sound that Alexander likes to hear. When the General is in a good humour, all is well.

‘I didn’t have you down as an observer of earthly beauty.’

‘There is little time for it at camp,’ replies Alexander.

‘If I didn’t know you better…’

But Washington does not get to finish the sentence before both horses spook with a suddenness and violence that unseats Alexander and sends Washington sprawling up the neck of his mount. Alexander’s horse, now free of its rider, gallops off into the thick undergrowth. It crashes through the trees, throwing back a disorientating cacophony of sounds as it breaks branches and ploughs through logs and brambles.

Dazed, Alexander sits up, his right shoulder and wrist throbbing from their impact with the ground. He feels a damp warmth trickle down his face and he realises with a sickening jolt that blood is pouring from his nose. He does not know what to with himself, torn between nursing the pain in his arm and stemming the flow of blood.

‘Watch out!’ he hears Washington cry and a moment later he feels a weight on top of him, pinning him to the ground. Hands, persistent and unfamiliar, reach around his throat, cutting off his air as he tries to gather some strength to fight.

Whoever has him pinned down is filthy, the ragged remains of a red coat clinging to a wasted frame. The man seems faceless – Alexander can only focus on the red and what it means. He is the enemy and this fight will go on until one of them is dead.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: A bit of violence during the fight scene so proceed with caution. Also during Alexander's memories of it.
> 
> Thank you so much for your comments and kudos so far. I'm quite nervous about this one...

Alexander writhes desperately beneath the weight of the man in the red coat. He cannot seem to build enough strength or momentum to push him away, his hands and feet scrabbling desperately against the leaf-strewn floor. His shoulder screams in protest as he fights to gain the upper hand. He can no longer see or hear Washington or his horse and the thought that he is now alone fills him with cold dread.

He can taste iron as a grim mixture of blood, sweat and mucous trickles into the back of his throat. The man on top of him is slight and doesn’t weigh much, but Alexander has been so wrong-footed by the ambush and the injuries from his fall, he begins to wonder whether he will manage to stage even the smallest show of resistance.

He thinks of how warm and content he had been that morning. A very different weight holding him close, with John’s sleepy breath tickling his skin, rather than the foul stench emanating from this stranger. If he is going to die, he wants to do so with John on his mind – the memory of their one innocent night together a pleasant lullaby with which to fall into eternal sleep.

 _No_.

The thought of John back at camp expecting him to come back safe and sound imbues him with a renewed strength. With a low growl, he pushes harder against the man’s bony chest. It is finally enough to gain some momentum, and Alexander continues pushing and wriggling until he feels the hands slip clumsily from around his throat. He sucks in great gasps of air, trying not to let a coughing fit weaken him as he flips the man onto his back.

Now that he has the upper hand, he realises that his opponent would never have been a match in normal circumstances. The man’s face is gaunt, covered in a smattering of sores, dirt and bruises. Alexander can feel every rib as he straddles him, pinning him into place with his knees.

Then Alexander spots it – the knife. It whistles past Alexander’s ear, too close for comfort. Soldier’s reflex sends Alexander’s hand straight for his pistol – but to his horror, it is not there. He glances around frantically, scanning the forest floor for any sign of his precious weapon being close to hand. But there is no sign of it. Nor is there any sign of Washington.

Alexander curses under his breath, ducking another swipe from the knife and digging his knee harder into the man’s shoulder, eliciting a pained grunt. He takes the opportunity to use his uninjured left hand to press on the man’s throat. He is squeamish as he feels bones and tendons working frantically as the redcoat struggles to swallow and breathe, but the continuous slashes of the knife stiffen his resolve. He uses his aching right arm to fend off the worst of the blows, trying not to think about what he is doing with his other hand.

The man weakens quickly, his attempts with the knife becoming sloppy and infrequent. Alexander no longer really has to concentrate on defending himself and puts all his remaining energy into finishing what he started. He feels queasy as he squeezes harder.

As the redcoat stills beneath Alexander’s fingers, he resists the urge to vomit. It’s one thing to shoot an enemy from a distance, but it is another to feel their life drain from beneath your own bare hands. He stares down at the man’s face and realises he is barely more than a boy. Probably several years younger than Alexander himself.

‘Hamilton!’

He lets his hand fall from the man’s throat. Washington and his horse approach, both breathing heavily. His horse is drenched in a foamy white sweat but seems to have otherwise calmed down.

‘Is he dead?’

Alexander nods, trying to get to his feet but finding his legs will no longer support him. He collapses back onto the dead man, sobbing.

He hears a thud as Washington dismounts and feels strong arms pull him upright. He cannot catch his breath and Washington holds him close.

‘Are you hurt?’ asks Washington, his fingers underneath Alexander’s chin, inspecting his bloody face with concern. ‘That looks nasty.’

Alexander has all but forgotten his bleeding nose in the mess of the fight. He must look a sight.

‘My arm…’ he chokes out between sobs, looking down at the tatters of his coat. The knife has pierced the skin in several places, but none of it looks life-threatening. A bruise is already blossoming across his shoulder and his wrist is red, hot and swollen.

Washington inspects his wounds, keeping his arm firmly beneath Alexander’s shoulders. His legs feel weak and his chest his burning with the effort of trying to get enough oxygen into his lungs. When Washington has finished his assessment of Alexander’s arm, he turns his attention to his throat, which must have bruised enough to draw Washington’s attention. Alexander flinches away from the touch.

‘It’s ok,’ soothes Washington, withdrawing his hand. ‘You’ve done nothing wrong.’

‘I killed a man,’ whispers Alexander.

‘It’s war, my boy. You’ve killed before?’

‘Yes, but not…’ He trails off, unable to make sense of his thoughts. The man would have killed him had he given him the chance. But it doesn’t change the fact he pinned him to the floor and slowly choked him, watching the life fade from the young, desperate face. He feels cold.

‘My horse…’

‘I don’t know where she’s gone, Alexander. We’re only a couple of miles from camp, so perhaps she’ll make her own way back. But I’d rather not spend much longer here in case there are others.’

‘Please don’t leave me,’ says Alexander, clinging to Washington’s arm.

‘Don’t be silly, my boy. I’m not going to leave you,’ says Washington, smoothing a few stray hairs away from Alexander’s forehead. It’s a futile exercise given the state of his face and clothes, but Alexander appreciates the attempt at tenderness. ‘Come on. My horse can manage us both for a couple of miles. Can you stand on your own?’

Minutes later, Washington has managed to get himself and an unsteady Alexander onto the back of his horse. She is still damp with sweat, but she seems none the worse for wear for her earlier shock. He urges her forward and Alexander presses his face into Washington’s broad back, concentrating on breathing. He does not look back at the lifeless body on the floor. He does not look down at his left hand.

He breathes and breathes and breathes and breathes.

***

‘What on earth happened to you?’

Alexander tries to turn his face away as he enters the tent, but it doesn’t take John long to notice his ripped clothes and dishevelled hair. He lets out a low whistle as Alexander turns to face him, displaying the full range of his injuries.

‘My God, Alexander. Did you fall off your horse?’

‘Yes,’ says Alexander. His voice sounds robotic, like it doesn’t belong to him. He is incapable of elaborating further, exhaustion flooding over him like a tidal wave. He stayed with Washington for most of the day, trying to distract himself with work and ignoring the insistent throb of his shoulder and wrist. He had of course refused to see a medic, despite Washington’s best efforts. 

‘But these look like knife wounds,’ says John, reaching for Alexander’s arm. Alexander pulls away, eyes wide. ‘Hey, it’s ok. Are you going to tell me what happened?’

Alexander shakes his head, flopping down onto his bedroll. He makes no effort to remove his boots or jacket. John crouches down beside him. The look of concern on his face breaks Alexander’s heart, but he won’t explain any further. He doesn’t want anyone else to know what he has done. Above all, he can’t bear for John to know what he is capable of.

‘At least let me clean you up, Alex,’ begs John, instinctively reaching for Alexander again but stopping himself short. ‘Please?’

Alexander closes his eyes in resignation. He is too tired to attempt the task himself.

‘Good,’ whispers John, scrambling to his feet. Alexander hears him moving around the tent, gathering whatever supplies he can. He hears the tearing of cloth and the splashing of water – quite where John has sourced these things, he doesn’t know. And he doesn’t care enough to ask.

‘You’re going to have a wonderful black eye,’ says John, dabbing at the encrusted blood around Alexander’s nose. ‘Does this hurt?’

‘Not much,’ replies Alexander.

‘It doesn’t appear to be broken. You’ve been very lucky. Ok, now jacket off.’

Alexander hesitates, reluctant to give John a closer look at the wounds on his arm.

‘I’m not going to say a word,’ promises John and Alexander relents, shrugging the remaining tatters of his jacket to the floor. His shirt follows soon after. ‘Hey, Alex. No, don’t cry. You’re safe.’

Alexander can’t comprehend why he is crying but there is nothing he can do to stop it. Perhaps it is something to do with the undeserved affection John is bestowing upon him.

‘Are you done with my arm?’ asks Alexander, his voice hoarse.

‘Almost,’ says John, wiping a damp piece of cloth over the worst of the wounds. He helps Alexander into a fresh shirt, and Alexander tries not to notice how their fingers keep brushing as they work at the buttons. ‘You need a good night’s sleep, Lex. Come and lie with me?’

Alexander’s stomach flutters – the first time since this morning he has felt anything other than disgust or fear. He wants nothing more than to crawl over to John’s bed and pull him close. But he does not deserve it. _John_ does not deserve it.

‘No,’ says Alexander. ‘I still have work to do.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ says John, catching Alexander’s hand as he tries to stand up. ‘Washington would never expect you to work in this state.’

John’s hand is warm around his and he feels himself weaken for a moment. It would be so easy to give in. He hates being the cause of John’s worry. But then he remembers where his hand was merely twelve hours ago – squeezing the life out of a young man lying helpless on the forest floor.

‘I’ve got to go,’ he garbles, pulling roughly away from John’s grasp.

‘Alex, please…’

But Alexander doesn’t give him the chance to finish. He is sure he hears a frustrated sob as he bursts out into the chilly night air. It is like a knife through his heart, but he cannot stay any longer. For both of their sakes.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: A little bit of homophobic thoughts/feelings due to the era when Alexander is reflecting on his own feelings. Not at all my own views!

Alexander closes the door softly behind him and lights a candle as he takes his position at his desk once more. It is a risk to slip back into the workroom after Washington dismissed him, but there are few alternatives on such a chilly autumnal night. He has no wish to wander aimlessly around the camp, no doubt attracting stares for his dishevelled appearance.

He sets himself to work and instantly feels better for the distraction as he puzzles over the right words. Now and again, he huffs in frustration, chewing absent-mindedly on the end of his quill. Occasionally he gasps in enlightenment as something falls into place, the first traces of a grin twitching at the corner of his mouth. But most of all, he does not think of dead British soldiers. Or Laurens.

After a few hours, he notices his hand does not move so fluidly over the page. The throbbing in his wrist has not subsided with time – if anything, it has worsened. He can avoid the pain in his shoulder if he moves the paper instead of his arm, but there is no way around the bend and flex of his wrist as he scratches out pages and pages of words. What’s more, the sun is starting to rise and he is _tired_.

‘Mon ami?’

The voice is familiar and almost too loud after hours of silence. Alexander looks up to find Lafayette standing in the doorway, looking almost as tired as he feels. The Frenchman is a good friend, but Alexander feels weary at the thought of conversing with him at this moment. He will ask too many questions and Alexander will get impatient and snappy.

‘Morning, Gilbert,’ he replies, turning his attention back to his work. The ache in his wrist is preferable to the company of any human right now and he hopes Lafayette takes the hint.

He does not.

‘I have been up all night with a certain Mr John Laurens,’ says Lafayette, taking a step into the room. Alexander fumbles – almost drops his quill – at the mention of the very person he is trying so hard to keep from his mind. ‘I’m not sure what has gone on between you two, but he is most upset.’

‘Nothing has gone on between us,’ says Alexander shortly. ‘I merely have a lot of work to do. I am sorry if that upsets him.’

‘So much work that it would keep you away all night?’

‘It is a war, Gilbert.’

Lafayette is standing over Alexander now, his shadow dancing on the wall beside them in the flickering candlelight.

‘What happened to your face?’ asks Lafayette. He cuts quite an imposing figure as he looms over Alexander.

‘I fell off my horse.’

‘And your wrist?’

Lafayette reaches to take Alexander’s hand in his, inspecting the swelling and flexing it gently. The gesture is entirely utilitarian, and Alexander feels something flicker in his gut as he compares it to John’s earlier attentions.

‘As I say,’ says Alexander, ‘I fell off my horse.’

‘So I am to get the same story, then?’ replies Lafayette with a sigh. ‘Mon ami, I wish you were not so defensive. We are trying to look out for you.’

‘I’m fine, Gilbert,’ replies Alexander wearily. ‘I don’t need anyone to look out for me.’

‘Does the General know you’ve been here all night?’

‘I certainly did not,’ comes Washington’s voice from the door leading to the stairs. Neither had heard his footsteps descending nor seen his silhouette framed in the doorway. Alexander scrambles to his feet and Lafayette straightens, standing to attention. ‘Did I or did I not dismiss you earlier, young man?’

‘You dismissed me, sir,’ replies Alexander in a small voice.

‘And do you remember my conditions?’

‘That if I were to disobey, you would force me to the medical tent against my wishes.’

‘And yet, Hamilton, here you are.’

‘I’m sorry, sir,’ replies Alexander, staring at the floor. He cannot stand to look at Washington – the only person in the world who knows what he has done. ‘I couldn’t sleep.’

‘And yet you look like you are about to sleep where you stand. Go upstairs, young man.’

‘What?’ stutters Alexander. It is not the most eloquent response, but he had been expected to be dispatched straight to the medical tent, not sent to Washington’s private quarters.

‘Go upstairs. I’ll join you shortly. I just want a word with young Gilbert.’

Alexander obeys, climbing the wooden staircase up to Washington’s private room. In some headquarters, the aides are also allowed to sleep in the house, but in this instance, there is only space for the General. It is a small room with a fireplace, although the fire has long since burnt out. There is a decent bed – not as comfortable as is usual for a general, but better than the bedroll he currently sleeps upon.

He waits, pacing back and forth across the uneven wooden flooring. He wishes the General had a mirror so he could check his appearance – he can only imagine how he looks with his bruised, exhausted face and unkempt hair. Yet John had not seemed disgusted by him. He had been as tender as ever, even offering him the space in his bed.

Now that exhaustion has crept in proper, Alexander cannot imagine anything more heavenly that sliding under the blankets with John, feeling his warmth radiating into all the places he feels cold and empty. That would surely be the best painkiller – the best sedative.

He is jerked out of his reverie by the bang of the door as Washington makes his entrance.

‘Are you going to tell me what has been going on?’ ask Washington as he sweeps past Alexander. He does not go to sit behind his desk, but rather leans against it with the backs of his thighs, arms folded.

‘I don’t know what you mean, sir. I came back here late last night to finish off some work and morning crept up on me.’

‘Alexander, let’s not pretend I believe that for a moment,’ replies Washington. Alexander notices the use of his Christian name and is softened by it. ‘It seems you have upset Mr Laurens somehow?’

‘I don’t know anything about that, other than he tried to warn me against doing any more work. If he is upset then I am sorry…’

‘While I can quite see there is a truth in there, I am guessing there is something more to it than that.’

Alexander thinks of the moment he had fled – John offering his bed and his warmth as he had done the night previously. _Oh_. He had not meant to reject John in such an unfeeling way – had only meant to protect him from the monster inside him that had just brutally killed a man with his bare hands.

Several monsters, if he is true to himself. The way he felt after spending the night in John’s bed, the way they had twined themselves together – it is not _natural_. He does not want to corrupt John’s innocence with this dark piece of himself, even if he suspects a piece of that darkness might also reside in John too.

‘You are probably right, sir,’ he responds at last.

‘Do you not think it best if you share what happened yesterday with him?’

‘ _No_!’ spits Alexander, a little more vehemently than intended. Washington quirks an eyebrow at the outburst. ‘Sir, you promised me yesterday that you would keep my secret.’

‘And I will do so, as long as you want me to. But I still insist you have done nothing wrong. It’s war, my boy. And you had to survive. Do you think that man would have hesitated in ensuring you met the same fate, given half the chance?’

Alexander shudders at the memory of desperate fingers scrabbling at his throat. He reaches up to press on a bruise there, hissing in pain as he does so.

‘It doesn’t make it right though,’ he protests weakly.

Washington shakes his head in exasperation. ‘You’re impossible, Alexander. Now, how about you get some sleep?’

‘What, here?’ asks Alexander incredulously as Washington gestures to the bed.

‘Yes, here,’ replies Washington. ‘You’re no good to anyone in this state – you can barely stand up.’

Alexander notices with shame that his posture is certainly lacking. The thought of the bed makes his head feel foggy with exhaustion and he wants nothing more than to slip between the blankets – far more luxurious than anything they are afforded down in the camp. He nods quickly before his impossible, stubborn brain can form an argument.

‘And sleep as long as you need to, Alexander. I don’t want to see you again until you are well rested,’ says Washington as Alexander pulls off his boots and climbs between the sheets.

Alexander is not sure whether he speaks his agreement or not. Sleep is already tugging him down before his head has even hit the pillow. As he slips further down into unconsciousness, he sees blue sea and yellow sun. He smells fresh sea air and hears the lapping of waves and the commotion of boats docking in the harbour. It has been a long time since he has been back here, and while it is unpleasant to pick at this old wound, it is preferable to scratching at the more current ones he is suffering. At least there is no John Laurens in the Caribbean.

***

He wakes, the scent of sea air replaced by old wood and gunpowder. It is dark again – that cannot be. He sits up, frantic. All the work he has missed!

‘Alex?’

Is he still dreaming? The voice belongs to John Laurens, but that cannot be so at such a late hour in Washington’s private quarters.

‘You’re not dreaming,’ the voice reassures him. Typical of John to be able to read his mind. It is not a hallucination then.

‘Where’s Washington?’ asks Alexander, rubbing his eyes to get rid of the sleepy haze that clouds his vision.

‘He said he has some business to attend to downstairs, but I’m not sure that’s true,’ replies John. He is sitting beside the bed in the rickety wooden chair that is usually placed in front of Washington’s desk. ‘I suspect he wanted to give us a bit of privacy.’

‘What for?’ John looks at Alexander. He does not need to speak for Alexander to read the pain written heavily across his forehead, the exhaustion shadowing his eyes. ‘I’m sorry if you think I… well. I didn’t mean for you to think you said or did anything wrong.’

John nods and lets out a long exhale. ‘I was worried you thought me improper in asking you to come to… Oh, you know what I’m saying. You fled very quickly after and I was worried I had disgusted you with my suggestion.’

‘John, you could never disgust me.’

It is only after a long moment of silence that Alexander realises he has said this out loud. John looks at him and Alexander wonders what emotion has just flickered – brief but certain – across his face.

‘That’s kind,’ says John eventually, face once more restored to an unreadable neutrality. ‘I’m glad I have not caused offence.’

‘Not at all. I don’t want you to think you’ve done anything wrong, John.’

‘Then who has upset you so?’

Alexander hesitates, looks down at his hands. His right wrist is still swollen – puffy around the delicate bones of his wrist. His left hand – that does not bear thinking about.

‘Myself,’ says Alexander at last. It is the simplest explanation for all the knots that are currently twisting in his heart. If he hadn’t killed a man… If he hadn’t fallen in love with John Laurens….

And that’s the first time he lets himself think it so clearly. The shock of it makes him shudder, as if he is suddenly naked in the cooling night air.

‘I wish you would talk to me, Lex,’ says John miserably. ‘I care about you so.’

How can Alexander put into words that the reason he can’t talk to John about this is because he cares about him _too much_? It’s an impossible quandary. When Alexander doesn’t answer, John rises to his feet.

‘I’m going to bed,’ John says with a weary sigh. ‘I don’t suppose you would want to come back to the tent? I know you probably won’t sleep, but I don’t think you can adapt a new nocturnal lifestyle.’

John looks surprised as Alexander shuffles his way out from beneath the blankets and reaches for his boots.

‘You’re wrong,’ he says with a smile. ‘I probably will sleep. I’ve never been so exhausted in my life.’

***

Back in the tent, Alexander strips self-consciously. He has noticed John’s eyes on him before, like when Alexander is shirtless beneath him as he rubs the knots out of his shoulders. But now that he has named his own feelings, he is more aware than ever of John’s curious gaze.

He does not hate his body. It is functional. It carries him to and from where he needs to be and keeps him in relatively good health. He wishes he were more muscular – he is not fond of his small, delicate frame – but it does not cause him distress.

He dives quickly into his bedroll once he is free of most of his clothing, except for his vest and breeches. John is much slower, taking what seems like an eternity over buttons and frills and fastenings. It is Alexander’s turn to stare, although he tries his hardest not to.

When John is finally down to the same level of undress as Alexander, he too climbs under the blankets on his own bedroll, pulling the coarse material over his well-muscled shoulders.

‘John…’

Alexander speaks before the thought has fully formed in his head. He doesn’t know where he is going with this, but the intensity of John’s gaze as he undressed has made him brave.

‘Yes, Alexander?’ John’s voice is low and thick. Something about the candlelight makes everything seem heavy and fervent. Alexander finds he cannot speak. His thumping heart constricts his throat. With a trembling hand, he raises one corner of his blankets.

‘Will you?’

John’s gaze darkens and Alexander is almost certain he can see the same blackness that tarnishes his own soul in the way he looks at him in that moment. John moves slowly at first, and then all at once. He slides beneath the blankets and finds his place as if they were two pieces of a puzzle never meant to be apart. Their legs twine again, interlocking as they settle into place together. Alexander almost sobs with a mixture of relief and want.

‘Now sleep, my dear Alexander,’ John whispers. ‘Tomorrow is a new day.’


	4. Chapter 4

The next few days follow a familiar, comfortable routine. They rise early and head into the workroom, where hours of demanding work keeps them busy until the sun sets in the evening. Washington has not summoned Alexander to help him with any correspondence since their debacle in the forest, so he heads back to the tent with John every evening. They talk and laugh until the candle burns low and one inevitably plucks up the courage to invite the other into bed.

Alexander has begun to pray again nightly, his lips moving silently as soon as he hears John’s breathing deepen. He is not sure what he is asking for, nor even who he is asking it of, but he feels relief at doing _something_ in this ridiculous stalemate.

‘Clarity, certainty,’ he mutters, feeling John’s breath ghost across the back of his neck. It is the fifth night he has found himself curled tightly against John’s chest, fighting off sleep as he tries to solve this mystery between them. ‘I don’t know. Something. A sign that his heart is as mine?’

He does not really know the art of prayer. He just mutters the words that he thinks are important – anything he thinks might untangle the knotted threads of his mind. It’s not as though he is even sure there is a God to listen to him – and if there were, he would surely be against such sin – but he is at a loss at how else to empty himself of these feelings.

***

‘Alexander, wake up.’

John is propped up on one elbow, leaning over him with an expression of concern on his face. Alexander realises he is sweating, and only as he is pulled further from his slumber does he realise how laboured his breathing had been.

‘What time is it?’ he asks as he sits up, wiping a shaking hand over his sodden brow.

‘Before sunrise. Are you alright?’

‘Yes, I will be. It was just a nightmare.’

Alexander had been back in the forest, on the alert for ghostly men in red coats. As nightmares go, it isn’t the worst he’s ever had, but it has unsettled him nevertheless.

‘Come here,’ says John, pulling him close once more. Alexander relaxes against him, feeling the sweat start to cool on his skin as his level of adrenaline lowers. He had for a moment been tempted to scramble out of bed and flee to the workroom to busy himself, but that feeling soon subsides.

‘How do you calm me down so?’ he whispers into the stillness of the tent. He had not really meant to speak aloud, but now that he has, he is curious to hear John’s reply. As if John himself might be able to provide a logical reason for the effect he seems to have on Alexander.

‘Do I?’ asks John, and Alexander can almost hear the smile in his voice. John presses closer, his nose now in Alexander’s hair. It’s as close to a kiss as Alexander can hope for. ‘I’m glad.’

***

‘Mr Hamilton, sir!’

Alexander turns to find the stableboy running towards him, mud smeared across his face along with a wide grin.

‘Yes?’ he asks as both he and John halt to allow the stableboy to catch his breath.

‘Your horse… she’s come back!’

‘That’s excellent news,’ says John, clapping Alexander on the back. ‘Not that I knew she was missing…’

Alexander detects a note of sadness in John’s voice at not having been privy to such information.

‘Thank you,’ he tells the stableboy, grinning from ear to ear despite John’s dig. ‘I’ll come straight over to see her tonight when I’m finished. See she’s well fed and watered, young man.’

‘She looks as healthy as I’ve ever seen her, sir. No doubt she has sustained herself in a clearing somewhere and then got bored and returned home.’

The stableboy runs off again and John and Alexander continue their leisurely walk to the workroom. It’s a glorious autumnal morning and for once neither of them feel like rushing, despite the mountains of letters they know they must get through before the day is done.

‘How did you get home if Peacock had run away from you?’ asks John eventually.

‘Washington’s horse,’ replies Alexander. ‘She could carry us both for a couple of miles no problem.’

‘Of course.’

There is a lengthy silence between them and Alexander wishes John would spit out whatever is on his mind. But the other man stays quiet and they enter the workroom without another word.

***

‘It’s time to leave, Alex,’ says John, leaning on his desk with both of his elbows, resting his chin on his hands.

‘I’m too busy, John,’ says Alexander, rifling through the stack of paper on his desk in search of a letter he seems to have misplaced.

‘None of this is urgent. It can all wait until the morning,’ says John. ‘The sun set over an hour ago.’

‘No, I must finish this tonight or I will worry so.’

‘I will not let you worry so,’ replies John cheekily and Alexander glances around to check that no one has heard. They have never spoken aloud of their nightly arrangements and it seems so uncouth to joke about it while the day’s work and worries still surround them.

‘John, please don’t push me. I need to work.’

‘What is wrong?’

‘Who says anything is wrong?’

‘Alexander Hamilton,’ says John, mock sternness tinging his voice. Although Alexander is sure he is only half joking. ‘When you are worried or stressed or otherwise distressed by your earthly existence, you bury yourself in work. If I have not learnt to read the signs by now, then I am a terrible friend.’

Alexander sighs, placing his quill gently on the desk. John is right. Since the news of Peacock’s return, his mind has strayed back to the events of the forest with an eery clarity. He can almost count the sores on the dead man’s face – can almost trace the smudges of dirt that stained his cheeks and jawline.

‘Come on, let’s go for a walk,’ says John. ‘We can go and see Peacock, like you promised.’

Alexander hesitates. He is not sure he wants John there while he is reunited with his horse – the last time he saw her was back _then_ and he is cautious about the memories that might resurface. John must read something in his face for he straightens up, his mouth pressed into a sad line.

‘Of course, if you’d rather I didn’t come…’

‘No, John,’ says Alexander quickly. ‘It’s not that. I just really need to…’

‘If you say finish this letter I am going to snap your quill in half and pour the contents of that ink bottle across your papers!’

John’s voice rings loudly around the workroom and a few other aides tut at the interruption. Alexander is stunned into inaction by the outburst – his hand is frozen where it had reached to pick his quill up again. John is normally the calm one and it’s unsettling that he has lost his temper in such a way.

Alexander risks a glance at John’s face. His cheeks are heated and his eyes are bright – features lit by a passion so rarely seen in his amiable, unshakeable friend.

‘You know what, Alexander? Do your work. I’ve tried.’

With that, John turns on his heel and exits. Alexander glances around once more, torn between making more of a scene by running after John or distracting himself with pointless work that truly is not urgent.

He sighs and with a curse under his breath, he scrapes back his chair and follows John out into the crisp air. He ignores the eyes of the other aides that watch him curiously and puts aside the thoughts of the gossip that has no doubt begun in earnest.

He is not really dressed for the weather, his breath clouding out in front of him as he hastens to catch up with John’s furious march. Leaves crunch beneath his feet and he pulls his hands up into the cuff of his sleeve to prevent them from being nipped at by the autumnal evening.

‘Must you make quite such a scene?’ demands Alexander once he reaches John, forced to jog every few steps just to keep pace with him. It is a humiliation he does not appreciate.

‘You are pushing me to my limits, Alexander.’

‘How so?’ asks Alexander, grabbing John by the sleeve of his coat and drawing them both to a halt.

‘You really can’t see it?’

John’s eyes are full of something curious. Fury, certainly, but there is something softer there and Alexander does not dare look any harder.

‘John, emotions are not my forte as I’m sure we’re all aware.’

‘Well, that’s a truth if ever one were spoken,’ mutters John.

‘Tell me then!’

John pulls him roughly by the arm into the shelter of a nearby hay barn. His temper has subsided enough for him to realise they are making quite a show out in the open.

‘Alexander, I don’t even know where to begin…’

John is still clutching Alexander’s arm and Alexander is disgusted by the feeling that stirs in his chest at the touch. John is still breathless from the brisk march and their sustained argument and Alexander thinks he should like to see more passion more often - albeit not directed so firmly _at_ him.

‘From the beginning?’ Alexander suggests softly.

‘Ok.’ John takes a deep inhale. He is more hesitant now as his anger abates. ‘Right. I’m maybe wrong in thinking the way I do, Alexander, but I need to get this off my chest. You won’t talk to me about whatever happened in the forest – that’s your decision. But I’m the one picking up the pieces and you don’t even realise it.’

‘What do you mean?’ asks Alexander. ‘I’m fine.’

‘This is _exactly_ what I’m talking about, Alex. You insist you’re fine – you probably even think that you are. But I’m the one who has to feel you tremble through the night. I’m the one who had to wake you this morning and stop you from working yourself into the ground because of a nightmare.’

‘But John, while I’m working, I’m not thinking. The nightmare would not affect me so if I were able to go and take my mind off it with more terrestrial matters. It was one night. Let’s not fight over one night.’

John’s mouth twitches into an unhappy grimace at these words. ‘It was not one night, Alex. Last night was the worst so I woke you. But every night since your trip, you’ve been muttering and mumbling and fretting.’

‘What have I said?’ asks Alexander, taken aback at this revelation.

‘Nothing to give me clues as to the nature of the issue, don’t worry,’ says John, almost snappy. ‘Then your horse returns and you act all skittish again. You’ve barely looked up all day and had I not caused such a fuss, you would have worked well into the night again. I don’t intend to have to pluck you from General’s bed more than once this week.’

‘Don’t feel you have to,’ sulks Alexander, regretful of his tone as soon as he has spoken the words. But now he sunken into petulance, he finds he cannot stop. ‘If I annoy you so, why don’t you just leave me to my vices?’

John takes a step back and for a moment Alexander is worried he has finally pushed too far. John’s expression is one of pained exasperation.

‘You really don’t get it, do you?’

Alexander waits – he evidently _doesn’t_ get it.

‘There are people in this world who care about you, as much as you like to pretend you are a lone wolf. I am one of those people, Alexander,’ says John, as though speaking to a difficult child. ‘I want to take care of you, but it’s impossible if you won’t let me in.’

Alexander thinks on this for a moment. John has shown more care for him than any other and Alexander is in a state of near constant craving for his affection. Would John really turn his back if he learnt what had happened in the forest? The General, who all but witnessed the whole affair, has not treated him with any hint of disgust or fear – on the contrary, he has been very quick to reassure him that he has no reason for shame. What if Washington is right?

‘I’m scared,’ whispers Alexander at last, dropping his gaze. ‘I’m scared of what you’ll think of me if you know what I did.’

‘Alexander, the General is your witness. As far as I can see, he thinks no less of you. You don’t have to tell me anything, if that truly is your choice, but I don’t think that sits comfortably with you. I think you value honesty.’

‘I do,’ whispers Alexander, his voice small and pitiful. ‘I just can’t find the words that are comfortable for me to say.’

‘May I, with your permission, get the information from Washington? He will tell me and paint you in the most objective light if you instruct him to do so.’

Alexander nods, relieved that he does not have to put words to his terrible actions. He sees John’s shoulders relax and his expression soften at the reaching of a compromise. His eyes have lost every trace of fury and Alexander can only see tender, kind affection there – the atmosphere between them so thoroughly changed from even moments ago

‘Let me know before you meet with him. I want to prepare myself for the worst,’ says Alexander.

‘I will, but you have nothing to fear, my Alexander,’ says Laurens, reaching to close the gap between them, taking Alexander’s hand in his. Alexander almost jumps at the electric feel of skin on skin. John is standing closer than is proper, meeting Alexander’s gaze with darkened eyes. ‘I don’t think I could ever be turned away from you.’

And there is a moment where the space between them is almost nothing, when all that Alexander breathes is the scent of John. Alexander’s hand still curled tightly in John’s warm palm and it feels like there is magic pulling them closer until their noses are almost touching.

Another heartbeat and Alexander knows that what they would have done would have changed their course from that moment on. But instead, they are forced apart by a clatter from outside. They hear voices and laughter – the sounds of the other aides on their way to bed after a long day of correspondence.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer's block is hitting pretty hard, but I still wanted to put something out there. Otherwise I never will.

That night, Alexander and John do not share a bed. Alexander crawls under his own blankets and John does the same as they bid each other a tentative good night. Sleep does not come easily to Alexander – he tosses and turns as he frets about everything that has been said, done and almost done over the last few hours.

He imagines John in Washington’s room, sitting with an expression of horror and disgust on his face as he hears the story of what transpired in the forest. Washington may not see anything wrong in what Alexander did, but he is a General – a much firmer, harder man than John.

He sits up, annoyed by the spiral of thoughts that are determined to pull him down into an uncomfortable night of anxiety and worry. He sighs and rolls out his aching shoulder. He has no idea what time it is, but there is no sign of sunrise and he wonders how much longer he must withstand this torment.

‘Hey,’ he hears John mutter sleepily. ‘Are you alright?’

‘No,’ huffs Alexander. ‘I can’t sleep and it is too early even for me to head to the workroom.’

John lifts the corner of his blanket at pats at the space beside him. ‘Would this help?’

Alexander aches to crawl over and slip into his habitual place in John’s arms, but he is haunted still by the image of John’s face as Washington relays the truth.

‘I dare say I don’t deserve such care,’ says Alexander, tucking his knees beneath his chin.

‘I believe everyone deserves such care,’ says John. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t offer earlier. I was unsure whether…’

John trails off, as unable as Alexander to put words to what almost happened between them. Now that the moment has passed, it seems absurd. It’s not that Alexander doesn’t want it with all of his heart – but the road between here and there seems impossible to navigate now that the spell has lifted. How to get back to that precipice?

‘It’s ok,’ manages Alexander. ‘I would have kept you awake anyway. My shoulder aches and my mood is not compatible with restful dreams.’

John sits up now too, pulling his blanket around his shoulders as he shuffles to close the gap between them.

‘Turn around,’ he instructs, pulling Alexander into the space between his knees. All at once his hands are on Alexander’s aching shoulder, gentle enough to not cause unnecessary pain, but firm enough to loosen the tension and stiffness that have settled there. Alexander whines in relief, which only makes John pull him closer.

‘Thank you,’ whispers Alexander, weak with gratitude. He had not known how desperate he was to be touched and held so.

After several blissful minutes, John’s touch gentles. He strokes and soothes a broader area of Alexander’s back, making him shudder.

‘Is this ok?’

Alexander can only nod, so close to tears. He is _tired_ and so undeserving of this tenderness, but he cannot find it in himself to refuse it. Instead, he sits there helpless beneath John’s hands.

‘Now lie down,’ instructs John, guiding him down into the tangle of blankets of his bedroll. ‘May I stay?’

Alexander lifts the blankets enough to let John slip underneath. John pulls his own blanket over them too, and Alexander welcomes the extra warmth and weight. They find their usual place with unnerving ease, John’s arm wrapped tight across Alexander, his thumb stroking patterns across his stomach.

***

Alexander is pinned, unable to move. He gasps, trying to free himself from whatever is restraining him, but his struggles only render him more immobile. Someone is yelling, and it is only as he tries to protest against the weight across him that he realises the noise is coming from him.

‘Alexander!’

 _John’s voice._ The heaviness of sleep starts to clear and Alexander fights for breath.

‘Alex, open your eyes.’

Alexander wriggles once more before he obeys. Early dawn light illuminates the sparse furnishings of his own tent.

‘Breathe, Alex.’

He is still in his bedroll, tucked under the warmth of the blankets. John is still beside him, but they must have moved in their sleep for they are now lying face-to-face. The weight across him belongs to John’s leg, which lies draped over his waist. John’s arms are around him, restricting his movements and pinning his own arms into position beneath them.

‘God, I’m sorry,’ whispers Alexander through choked gasps. He cannot catch his breath and it is making him dizzy, blood pounding in his ears in the rhythm of his pulse.

‘Look at me and breathe.’

The pressure and weight that felt so threatening moments ago has now become a lifeline. Alexander clings to John, fingers twisting in the loose cotton of his shirt.

‘You’re fine,’ whispers John, his breath warm on Alexander’s forehead. ‘That’s it. Just breathe.’

And Alexander does. He inhales and exhales as deeply and slowly as he can manage.

‘Okay?’

‘I’m so sorry,’ he mutters again, turning his head away from John.

‘Don’t be,’ replies John. ‘I wish you wouldn’t behave with such shame. There’s nothing wrong in it.’

Alexander huffs out a hollow laugh.

‘I deserve it, John. It’s God’s way of punishing me for what I did.’

‘There are many problems with those sentences, my dear Alexander,’ says John, tightening his embrace. John’s breath is still hot on his skin, and the weight of him draped across Alexander is an indescribable heaven. It is all an impossible conundrum. He _is_ being punished – because how can God not punish him for what he did – yet he is also in John’s arms which is tantamount to paradise.

‘Oh?’ It is the most eloquent response he can manage under the weight of his thoughts.

‘You’re not much of a man of the scripture to start with.’

‘You have said yourself you have seen me engaged in prayer,’ replies Alexander, his cheeks colouring slightly as he remembers the topics of his more recent prayers.

‘It doesn’t mean you find it logical, or reasonable, or even real. You do it because you think you should. It’s not a secret that you doubt, Alexander.’

‘Perhaps all the more reason for my punishment.’

‘Stop all of this,’ says John, pressing a finger gently to Alexander’s lips. It’s all Alexander can do not to press a soft kiss there. ‘I am not entering a religious debate before the sun has even risen properly.’

‘And what about when the sun _has_ risen properly and you have found out my secret? Will you debate with me then? I don’t think you will. I think you’ll see I’m right. I _am_ being punished, John.’

John pulls him closer with an unexpected fierceness that makes Alexander’s breath hitch in his throat.

‘Do _not_ say that, Alexander,’ hisses John. ‘Don’t ever insinuate that anything you do would push me away.’

‘What about murder, John? Would that push you away?’ says Alexander, suddenly antagonistic in the face of John’s unwavering belief in him. ‘If I murdered a man with my bare hands, wouldn’t that make you think twice about my character?’

‘What?’ John freezes. He blinks once – twice.

‘You heard,’ mumbles Alexander, fixing his eyes resolutely on John. There is no taking back his words and there is a sort of perverse pleasure in making John squirm. They stare at each other for a long, uncomfortable moment.

‘I refuse to believe that is the whole story,’ says John, but the hesitancy of his tone makes it sound more like a question.

‘Perhaps not, but that is what it boils down to,’ replies Alexander coldly. ‘Maybe your faith in me is misplaced?’

John shakes his head firmly as if to dislodge some thought or feeling that is unwelcome there. ‘No, Alexander. You cannot persuade me in this way. I know you better than anyone. I don’t doubt for a second that there is more to your story that justifies your actions.’

Alexander closes his eyes. He does not want to think about the forest or the weight of the desperate redcoat pinning him, rendering him so helpless. John’s hand brushes his cheekbone – first the tips of his fingers and then the calloused skin of his knuckles.

‘Do you want me to prove it?’ whispers John, and Alexander feels his breath, this time ghosting across his lips. ‘Because I do not doubt, Alexander.’

The contact is so gentle at first, warm breath grazing his mouth. A kiss so soft that it could almost be a figment of his imagination. Alexander opens his eyes and finds John watching him with a darkened gaze – the same darkened gaze that watches him undress before bed.

‘You don’t know what you’re getting into,’ whispers Alexander, but he does not move away.

‘I don’t care,’ replies John, pressing his mouth once more to Alexander’s. Alexander whines in surprise and pleasure, eliciting a delighted sigh from John. Alexander pulls him closer, certain he will be lost forever without John’s arms around him. Their breath mingles in a frenzy of push and pull, and for the first time in a long time, Alexander forgets about the world around him, content to lose himself to this hungry worship in the first rays of the dawn light.

And John holds him - unrelenting - whispering comfort and encouragement with every breath he can spare.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had not meant to go so far down the angsty spiral as I have, but we are where we are.  
> Thanks for reading and all of your comments and kudos mean the world.

Alexander feels wobbly and tired, despite eventually falling asleep in John’s arms. In the workroom that morning, his hands shake and he yawns and sighs in equal measure. He is used to being exhausted, but this is a new kind of drained, and he is not surprised when he is summoned to Washington’s office shortly before midday.

‘Do you need some rest, Hamilton?’

‘No, sir,’ replies Alexander, a little too quickly.

Washington steeples his fingers beneath his chin, resting his elbows on a pile of correspondence. Alexander tries to still the tremble that is vibrating seemingly throughout his whole body. His skin prickles and he feels cold despite the roaring fire.

‘You look exhausted,’ says Washington, narrowing his eyes. ‘You’re as pale as a ghost.’

Alexander’s body betrays him in a violent shiver and he bows his head in shame.

‘I know you far too well not to comment,’ says Washington softly.

‘Sir, I’m fine. I’m just tired, that is all.’

‘Have you spoken to Mr Laurens about what happened in the forest? Perhaps you will listen to him, if you won’t listen to me? I know how close you two are.’

Alexander suppresses a quirk of his eyebrow at this last statement – licks his lips in the hope that they are less raw and swollen than they felt this morning. It is fortunate he has not been in any humour to engage with anyone else in the workroom.

‘Mr Laurens knows some of it,’ replies Alexander. ‘But not in detail. In fact, I believe he has requested a meeting with you, sir?’

‘I have received no such request,’ says Washington with a shake of his head.

Alexander frowns. He felt sure John would want to hear the rest of the story as soon as possible. He cannot possibly be satisfied for long with the torrid details Alexander _did_ share with him…

 _Oh_.

Alexander feels a wave of nausea as realisation dawns on him. John had been quick to dress once the sun had begun to rise, pulling on his boots and coat as soon as the hour was acceptable. Alexander had lain in bed for longer, trying and failing to supress the quiet vibration of anxiety that was thrumming through his veins. John had gazed upon him strangely as he had left the tent and Alexander had taken it to be a look of concern.

But now he understands. It was _repulsion_. The sort that appears once the sun comes up and the light of day is cast upon the night before. _That_ is why they have exchanged nothing more than awkward glances since John extracted himself from the blankets.

‘Hamilton?’

Alexander tries to swallow against the dryness of his mouth. It feels as though he is deep underwater, the quiet hum of anxiety replaced with a wave of pure panic.

Washington has risen to his feet, a frown shadowing his features. He rounds the desk, placing a hand on Alexander’s shoulders. And Alexander can’t stand it a moment longer.

‘Where are you going?’

‘Out,’ chokes Alexander, wrenching himself free of Washington’s fingers. There is not enough air in the room and he will suffocate if he does not move. His limbs are heavy, but that does not stop him stumbling ungracefully to the door. Washington’s protests follow him, but he cares not for obeying orders. He does not even mind if he will be court martialled for insubordination. Whatever punishment Washington wants to bestow on him will be a welcome distraction from the fire that is roaring through his veins.

He feels hands close around his wrist as he tries to push his way out of the main doors to headquarters, but he jerks his arm, pulling roughly away from whoever has hold of him. He needs air otherwise he _will_ die.

As soon as he is out in the open, he sinks down to the floor against the wall of the workroom. He can hear his name being repeated over and over, muffled and distant as though through the entire lengths and depths of the ocean.

***

When he is once more aware of his surroundings, he feels another warm body next to him, also leaning against the wall. The uncomfortable sensation that has been plaguing him all day – the unquiet thrumming in his veins – has well and truly ignited. There is a ringing in his ears, and his hands and feet feel foreign – as though someone else is in control of his body.

‘Are you back with us?’ The voice is melodic. _Lafayette_.

Alexander can’t bring himself to answer, frozen in place as he is. He has wrapped his arms around his knees, squeezing them tightly to his chest. Any deviation from this position feels impossible – as though the very essence of him may spill out into the void if he releases even the tiniest bit of tension. He is only grateful that camp is quiet and no one else is around to witness this bizarre display outside of headquarters.

‘Mon petit lion?’

Alexander gives a tiny shake of his head and feels Lafayette’s arm snake around his shoulders. The weight of it is comforting, and like this, he does not feel like he is about to fall off the Earth.

‘Sorry,’ he croaks after several long minutes.

‘No need to apologise,’ says Lafayette, giving him a squeeze. ‘Will you tell me what’s wrong?’

Alexander hesitates. He cannot confess all to Lafayette without revealing what went on between him and John in the early hours – and that he most certainly must not do. Lafayette is a good man, but even good men have their limits.

‘No, I’m fine,’ whispers Alexander with a resolute shake of his head.

‘You don’t look it,’ says Lafayette, peering curiously at Alexander. ‘In fact, I would go as far as to say you look… how you say? Awful. Ill. Worried. Distressed…’

‘Ok, thank you,’ interrupts Alexander before Lafayette descends into worse insults. ‘I’ve just had a bad morning.’

‘It happens to us all,’ shrugs Lafayette, giving Alexander’s shoulder a squeeze.

‘Not quite like this, though,’ replies Alexander, gesturing at their awkward position on the cold, damp floor, not metres away from the door to the workroom.

‘This is true,’ concedes Lafayette. ‘You have done it quite spectacularly.’

They sit in companiable silence for several more minutes. The autumn air is chilly, and before long, Alexander is shivering more from cold than from the peculiar feeling that has consumed him since he awoke this morning. He stretches his legs out, wincing as his joints creak and crack.

‘Feeling better?’ asks Lafayette.

‘Yeah,’ sighs Alexander, rubbing a hand across his face. ‘I don’t know…’

Familiar footsteps rounding the corner interrupt his train of thought. His mouth turns to cotton as he recognises the brisk, self-assured pace of John Laurens.

‘Alexander?’

There is no way to make this scene look less strange now that John is already above them. Few reasons would call for them sitting out on the damp ground, shivering in the cold. Even fewer reasons would call for Lafayette to have his arm around Alexander’s shoulders.

‘Is everything ok?’ asks John, gazing down at the duo. ‘Alex, you look awful.’

‘As I’ve already been told several times today,’ huffs Alexander. He raises his face towards John, but he finds he can’t quite meet his eyes.

‘Why didn’t you come find me?’ asks John softly, glancing between Alexander and Lafayette. The tenderness in his tone takes Alexander by surprise – he did not expect such kindness.

‘I didn’t want to bother you,’ mutters Alexander, gazing at his boots. ‘I thought you were angry.’

‘Alex!’ says John incredulously. ‘After last night…’

John trails off, glancing hurriedly at Lafayette, who does not give any hint to suggest that he takes anything untoward from this.

‘I know. But I thought you might regret… Or you would feel… Ok, this is impossible.’

‘Gentlemen,’ says Lafayette, finally extracting his arm from its position around Alexander’s shoulder. ‘I get the sense that I am intruding on something.’

‘Not at all!’ both Alexander and John exclaim at once.

Lafayette smirks. ‘Perhaps I should give you some privacy?’ He heaves himself to his feet, dusting his breeches and rearranging his jacket.

‘Thank you for taking care of him,’ says John with a light touch to Lafayette’s forearm. ‘I don’t mean to chase you away, but I can handle it if you would like to return to your work.’

Alexander huffs from his position on the floor. He is not sure he has the energy to haul himself to his feet, but nor does he want to be discussed like an invalid. Lafayette offers him a hand and pulls him up, keeping a tight grip on his arm until he is balanced and steady.

‘Thanks for… you know,’ mumbles Alexander and it feels painfully little in the face of Lafayette’s kindness. But Lafayette flashes him a grin that tells him all is ok between them.

As soon as Lafayette has marched off in the direction of his tent, John grabs Alexander’s upper arm, pulling him closer with a desperate grip.

‘Alex, you scared me,’ he whispers. ‘You didn’t look too great this morning when I left. I’ve been worried but I haven’t had time to check on you.’

‘I’m sorry,’ replies Alexander. ‘I thought you were mad. I thought you had woken up and realised how repulsive I am. And what _we_ did…’

‘Shh,’ begs John. ‘Do not speak of it out loud.’

‘But you’re not ashamed?’

‘Why would I be ashamed?’

‘It is a sin,’ chokes Alexander. ‘And _I_ am the biggest sinner of us all.’

‘You are not thinking straight,’ says Laurens. ‘Perhaps it has been caused by the trauma you witnessed…’

‘The trauma I caused,’ Alexander corrects.

‘No, Alexander. I will not have you blame yourself for any of this.’

‘Then who is to blame, John?’ says Alexander, his eyes locked on John. ‘God himself?’

‘He certainly has some explaining to do.’

The door to headquarters swings open and a gaggle of aides spill out into the crisp noon air. The sound causes them to jump apart, as if they have been engaged in some improper act, rather than simply the _discussion_ of an improper act.

‘Let’s not do this here,’ suggests John, gesturing at headquarters. ‘This is not quite the place for such talk.’

‘There is nowhere fit for such talk,’ retorts Alexander, but follows John nonetheless – a task made much trickier by the fact he still feels like a stranger to his own body.

***

John does not lead them back to their tent as Alexander had expected. They trudge along in silence towards the edge of the camp, where the homely scent of horses and grain wafts comfortingly on the breeze.

‘The stables?’ asks Alexander as they slip inside a big barn. ‘Why have we come here?’

John shrugs. ‘I find nobody listens better than a horse. They keep your secrets too.’

They find Peacock in a large wooden stall, chewing steadily on a weighty bucket of grain. Alexander is relieved to see she looks no worse for wear after her solo journey and feels a stab of guilt that he has not been to check on her sooner.

‘I thought if you can’t talk to me, you might talk to Peacock instead,’ says John. The horse notices the men standing there and makes her way towards them, pushing her nose against Alexander’s shoulder in greeting. ‘It does no good to bottle things up.’

‘Why didn’t you arrange a meeting with Washington?’ asks Alexander, pressing a kiss to the velvet skin of Peacock’s nose.

‘Because I don’t need to hear any more, Alexander. If you don’t want to tell me, I don’t need to know. And that’s good enough for me.’

‘I thought…’

‘You thought wrong. I only want to make sure you’re ok.’ Alexander lets out a long exhale. John truly does not seem mad. ‘Promise me you’ll talk to Peacock? It sounds crazy, but it really will help. She’s a good listener.’

Alexander gazes past Peacock’s long lashes into her soulful eyes. She is exploring his jacket with her nose and lips in the hope of searching out some treat or another. The breath from her nostrils is warms and her scent is the homeliest thing he has come to know.

‘I will,’ assures Alexander, unbolting the door to the stall and slipping inside. Then a pause. ‘Will you stay?’

John hesitates and then follows Alexander into the stall. They stand on either side of Peacock, Alexander resting his head in the dappled fur on her neck. He does not know where to begin.

‘We’re both here,’ reassures John in a quiet whisper. ‘No judgement from either of us.’

Peacock watches Alexander patiently, enjoying warm human company on either side. For the first time today, pressed close to the comforting heat of his horse, he feels a sense of safety wash over him. His voice shakes as he begins, but true to John’s word, she listens intently, her ears flicking back and forth at the sound of his voice.

And Alexander finds that once he has started, he is like a river that will not be held back, no matter the size of the dam. He pours out his guilt over the events in the forest, not leaving out a single detail despite the lump in his throat that threatens to choke him. Silent tears stream down his face, dampening Peacock’s coat as he recounts his affections for John and the darkness that brings up in him. Finally, he tells the story of that morning.

When he is finished, he waits, running his fingers through Peacock’s wiry mane. He hears movement from the other side.

John stands in front of him, the evidence of tears still staining his flushed cheeks. With a furtive glance around for wandering stableboys, Alexander reaches out to him, curling his fingers into the lapels of his jacket. John pulls him close, wrapping his arms tightly across his back, tucking his head beneath his chin.

Peacock watches them, trying to push her face in now and again to share in the embrace, earning the affectionate giggles of the two humans in her stall.

‘Thank you for letting me stay,’ John mutters into Alexander’s hair. Alexander shrugs, unable to put into words the relief he feels at still having John’s arms around him, despite all he has just confessed. ‘And if it still isn’t clear to you, your affections are returned in equal measure.’


	7. Chapter 7

For the first time in a long time, Alexander takes a walk that evening. He has never been one for taking idle time outdoors to pause and think, but the events of the last week have shaken him to the core. The sun is setting, tingeing the clouds a lurid pink on the horizon. The ghostly footprint of the moon is already visible up ahead – not quite a full moon, but almost.

Leaves crunch and twigs pop and snap beneath his boots as he marches his way around camp. He has never been one to amble – if he does take a stroll, it is a brisk one that raises his heart rate and brings a sheen of sweat to his brow.

‘Hamilton!’

The sound of a familiar voice makes him jump. It is the _last_ person he wants to face after the theatrics of the morning – George Washington.

‘Evening, sir,’ he replies with a curt nod.

‘Strange to see you out of the workroom at this hour,’ remarks Washington, falling into stride beside Alexander. He supposes he should have informed Washington of his whereabouts since storming out of his office.

‘Yes, I needed some fresh air,’ replies Alexander, wondering if Washington plans to accompany him for the rest of his aimless meander around camp. Without a destination in mind, it will be a strange walk indeed.

‘Good,’ says Washington and Alexander stares up at him in surprise. ‘You work far too hard, even when you’re not well.’

‘I’m more than well, sir…’

‘I don’t just mean physically, son,’ replies Washington. Alexander flinches. ‘You have not been quite yourself.’

‘I’ve realised that today, sir,’ admits Alexander, choosing a path that will lead him close enough to his tent should he desire a quick escape.

‘With the help of Mr Laurens?’

Alexander almost chokes at the mention of John in such a context. What does _Washington_ know of them? He steals a glance at the general’s face but does not see anything other than innocent query.

‘Yes, Mr Laurens has been a good friend, sir.’

‘I noticed you were both missing for much of the day…’

‘I apologise,’ interjects Alexander quickly. He has already put a black mark against his own name by exiting the general’s office in such a fashion – he does not wish to also incriminate John in the issue.

‘I didn’t mean it as a criticism,’ says Washington, waving his hand dismissively. ‘I was glad someone was with you who might make you see sense.’

‘Did you want me to return to the workroom now, sir?’ asks Alexander, eager to steer the conversation away from such murky waters. ‘If you need help with anything, I am more than happy to assist.’

Washington laughs kindly. ‘Not at all, my boy. I do not mean to interrogate. I’m just pleased to see you looking better than when we last spoke.’

Alexander nods gratefully. The general has many faults, but in this he has been nothing but kind.

‘I also wanted to make a suggestion,’ continues Washington after a few moments of companiable silence. Alexander waits – the note of uncertainty in the general’s voice has not gone unnoticed. ‘We never did complete our mission to scout out the potential new headquarters.’

‘No, that is true, sir,’ replies Alexander with a frown. He hates leaving anything unfinished. ‘What do you propose?’

Washington pauses in his tracks, a curious expression of mischief and uncertainty playing across his features. ‘I propose that _you_ complete the mission, my boy.’

Alexander inhales sharply. He is _not_ ready to head back out and undertake such work, especially on his own. The thought of riding back through that forest and stumbling upon the evidence of his transgression sends his stomach churning and his head spinning. He can taste bile in the back of his throat and moves as if to back away from Washington, who catches him gently by the elbow, holding him firm.

‘Hear me out, Hamilton,’ says Washington, giving his arm a squeeze. The firmness of Washington’s fingers ground him slightly – enough for him to listen to the rest of his statement. ‘I do not have the time to spare to head out on this venture again, but I trust your judgement entirely. I would be happy to leave it down to you – and Mr Laurens.’

Alexander opens and closes his mouth several times. It is a bizarre proposal. Aside from the honour of being trusted so implicitly by the general, Alexander’s heart flutters at the thought of a full day away from the stresses and strains of camp life with John – alone. Yet confliction swirls and storms within him at the thought of heading back out into the forest.

‘I think…’ he starts but does not know how to finish. Instead, he shakes his head with a huff of frustration.

‘You can take your time, my boy,’ reassures Washington. ‘Perhaps take some supplies and spend a night or two there? But I am very keen for you to do this, Hamilton, otherwise I fear you may never wish to ride out again.’

Alexander nods, swallowing hard against the dryness in his mouth. It is both the best and worst suggestion he has ever heard.

‘Yes, sir,’ he manages and Washington beams.

‘Excellent. I’ll inform the stable hands and make sure your horses are ready first thing in the morning. And don’t look so worried, my boy.’

***

John does not return to the tent until much later that evening. Alexander, who is pacing back and forth as much as the small space allows, hesitates at the sight of him emerging through the flap in the canvas. They share a shy grin as John kicks off his boots and shrugs out of his jacket.

‘I hear we are to ride out tomorrow,’ says John, shaking his hair loose from its neat queue.

‘Washington spoke to you too?’ asks Alexander, quirking an eyebrow.

‘Indeed. He seems to be under the illusion that it will be good for you to conquer your fear. And that somehow I will be a good influence.’

They both snort with laughter at the latter statement, any awkwardness between them quickly evaporating. John takes a step closer, his eyes still creased in a mesmerising smile that makes Alexander’s breath quicken.

‘I’m nervous,’ whispers Alexander. ‘I don’t think I can do this.’

John runs his fingers tenderly through Alexander’s hair, smoothing back any loose strands. ‘Which bit?’

‘Any of it.’

‘Tomorrow, we will ride out together,’ says John, letting his hand drift lower to caress Alexander’s cheekbone with his knuckles. ‘I will be with you every step of the way.’

Alexander leans into John’s touch, his eyes fluttering shut. He can smell ink, paper and coffee on John’s skin and feel the callouses on his fingers from gripping his quill so tightly.

John continues, his voice low and his eyes dark. ‘And as for the rest of it, we go at your pace.’

Alexander pulls John closer, fingers curling into the loose cotton of his shirt. Their breath mingles for a moment in a dance of uncertainty before their lips brush in a chaste kiss.

‘Is this ok?’ whispers John against Alexander’s mouth as he deepens the kiss, exploring now with more urgency and heat. Alexander is overwhelmed with affection and need and only manages to moan in response.

John’s arms snake around him, pulling him even closer until there is no space between them at all. His mouth trails down to Alexander’s jaw, kissing and nipping in a tantalising combination that has Alexander trembling against him.

‘We should get some sleep,’ whispers John at last, breath hot against Alexander’s ear. Alexander whines as he tries to pull away, tightening his grip on John’s shirt.

‘Please,’ whispers Alexander, watching as John’s expression darkens.

‘Someone will hear,’ replies John, his voice low and rough. His eyes are gleaming with a hunger that Alexander recognises – John would take no persuading, and Alexander toys with pursuing the course they have all but started down. But John is right. There is little privacy in a war camp, tents packed tightly together and soldiers wandering about at all hours.

Alexander lets out a long exhale and steps back, licking his lips and savouring how his skin prickles from John’s explorations. He is beginning to see the appeal of this expedition tomorrow.

But between then and now, there is a long night to get through, and Alexander is glad to have John to curl up against. He lies awake, his back to John’s chest, images of the strangled redcoat swimming across his vision every time he closes his eyes. It is made all the more terrifying by the knowledge he will be setting off on the same journey as soon as the sun has begun her ascent through the sky.

Alexander traces patterns up and down John’s forearm, memorising every freckle and every scar. It is a comforting ritual and John hums contentedly at the touch.

‘Get some sleep,’ he whispers into Alexander’s hair, pressing a kiss against the sensitive skin on Alexander’s neck, earning a shudder of pleasure in response. John gasps in surprise at Alexander’s reaction, his arms tightening their embrace, his leg sliding absent-mindedly between Alexander’s knees. Alexander grabs John’s hand, throwing his head back in search of _more_ and John’s mouth is all over his neck now, breathing hot and desperate against his skin. It is simultaneously too much and not enough, and with a whine of pure need, Alexander rolls onto his back, pulling frantically at John until he is covered by his muscular bulk.

‘What now?’ whispers John, ducking down to capture Alexander’s mouth as Alexander arches up beneath John in search of something they both know they should not be entertaining in the confines of the war camp.

‘John…’ Alexander pleads between desperate kisses, his hands exploring John’s upper body with an urgency he is no longer in control of.

‘Alex, we need to stop…’

‘No, please John. I need…’

Alexander is cut off by the sound of nearby footsteps and a voice outside their tent.

‘John? Alexander?’

John rolls off Alexander, eyes wide. How much noise had they been making? They share a terrified glance, as they realise how compromising their position is should the owner of the voice decide to enter the tent. They are both flushed and ruffled, half-clothed under the same blankets.

‘It is just me, Lafayette,’ comes the voice again. ‘I wanted to wish you well on your journey tomorrow. The general told me where you are going.’

Alexander clears his throat, his heart pounding so hard that his ears are ringing. ‘That’s very kind.’

‘May I come in?’

Before either of them can formulate a reason to protest – or indeed even open their mouths to do so – the flap of the tent lifts at the corner, and the tall, slim figure of Lafayette ducks through the opening. It takes him a moment to make sense the sight before him, but Alexander recognises the look of dawning comprehension that flashes across his face. He takes a step backwards, almost tumbling over a discarded jacket.

‘I see,’ says Lafayette once he has composed himself enough to regain his voice.

‘It’s not…’

‘Alexander, don’t,’ says Lafayette holding up a hand. ‘I do not need my intelligence insulted.’

Alexander can feel John shaking beside him. Aside from the involuntary tremors, he seems to have entirely frozen, eyes wide like he is prey caught in the grasp of a hunter.

‘Do you know how dangerous this is?’ continues Lafayette, pinching the bridge of his nose. His tone is angry, but it is laced with concern rather than disgust.

Alexander nods, gazing down at his lap.

‘You could be hanged if someone were to catch you engaged in this way…’

‘And we have been caught,’ interjects Alexander incautiously. ‘So, are we to hang, Lafayette?’

Alexander’s heart is aflame with a protectiveness over John. He can feel the fear radiating off him and fills him with a reckless bravery that he has lacked for the last week or so.

‘I would hold your tongue,’ warns Lafayette. ‘At no point did _I_ say anything about giving you away.’

Alexander looks up, meeting Lafayette’s gaze for the first time and realises that he too looks terrified.

‘You won’t say anything?’

‘God, Alexander, I would tell the world if I thought it might make you behave with more care. But the consequences are too great.’

‘Why are you protecting us?’ interrupts John, clenching his fists as he gazes up at Lafayette. ‘You don’t approve…’

‘Who said anything about that?’ says Lafayette softly, an expression of sadness settling across his features. ‘I will not lie – I am shocked. But do not mistake me for someone who would wish to see you punished for this.’

John buries his head in his hands and Alexander reaches out to comfort him. Lafayette hesitates, then he too steps forward, placing a slim hand on John’s shoulder.

‘My father would kill me…’ sobs John, rubbing furiously at his eyes.

‘Your father will never find out,’ says Alexander, looking to Lafayette for reassurance.

‘But you must behave yourselves,’ warns Lafayette. ‘I won’t give you away, but I cannot protect you if you carry on with such indiscretion.’

‘That is all we ask,’ replies Alexander, giving John’s shoulders a firm squeeze as the sobs continue. To his shock, John shrugs him away with an angry growl.

‘We will not be behaving in this way again,’ he asserts. ‘Discretely or otherwise.’

‘John…’

‘No, Alexander. This must stop.’

‘You said you felt the same…’ whispers Alexander, tears pricking behind his eyes. At least Lafayette has the decency to turn away, pretending not to bear witness to this painful moment.

‘And I do. But it’s not right.’

‘John, I could bear it more if you no longer felt…’

‘You’ll have to bear it either way, Alexander,’ says John, hauling himself to his feet. Alexander is at a loss for anything to say that would put a stop to the dreadful scene playing out in front of him. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, feeling again as though he is submerged underwater as he watches John pull on his boots.

As John lifts the flap of the tent, Alexander goes to call out, to follow him, but Lafayette pulls him back. He is saying something, but Alexander does not know or care what it is. All he can hear is the deafening rush of blood in his ears as his worst nightmare comes true before his eyes.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully I will be back to updating a bit more regularly. This chapter has been quite the struggle (again) - I just had to publish or I would never be happy with it.  
> Thanks as always for the lovely comments and kudos that keep me going :) I'll be updating more regularly now that I have a bit of a break.
> 
> (Oh and just to mention some more period-typical homophobia going on in this chapter)

The silence in the tent rings louder than any noise Alexander has heard before. John’s footsteps have faded away and all that is left is the sound of his own shallow breathing. Lafayette reaches out a hand and rubs Alexander’s arm.

‘Just give him some time.’

‘I don’t understand why you don’t turn us in,’ says Alexander, shaking his head bitterly. ‘Perhaps it would be a kindness to us all.’

‘I am many things, Alexander, but naïve is not one of them. I know that things go on behind closed doors that are not to the appetite of many. But I am not God and it is not for me to judge.’

Alexander glances once more at Lafayette and is surprised to see that the sadness in his expression still lingers. His eyes, normally sparkling and full of wit and cheer, look dull, heavy and tired. He has never seen Lafayette look so affected.

‘Are you ok?’

Lafayette chuckles, although the sound is not quite right. ‘Don’t worry about me, Alexander. I will be fine.’

‘We have shocked you irreparably…’

Lafayette looks up sharply, eyes burning as he practically spits his interruption. ‘No, Alexander!’ Then his expression softens. ‘I am afraid you have both gravely misunderstood me.’

Alexander frowns. He sees no misunderstanding to be had in the shock and concern Lafayette has expressed. In fact, he is grateful that his friend has been able to reconcile his conscience so quickly in the face of such abject sin.

‘What do you mean?’

Lafayette sighs and makes the gesture of tucking a strand of hair behind his ear despite the fact that his queue remains immaculate. His eyes dart to Alexander’s face but don’t linger.

‘Do not worry upon it, mon ami,’ he says shaking his head. ‘Forget I spoke.’

‘I do worry upon it, Gilbert,’ says Alexander, sitting up onto his knees to better face his friend. ‘Your cryptic words and sad expression cause me the greatest concern. And I know you don’t want to add to my worries.’

‘Had you better not rest, Alexander?’ You have a long day ahead of you tomorrow.’

‘Do not speak of it,’ says Alexander, a wave of panic rising in him at the thought of setting off from camp, most likely without John. ‘And do not try to change the topic like that. It’s not fair.’

‘Alright,’ says Lafayette sheepishly, holding up both hands. ‘I just meant you may have misunderstood the reasons for my anger when I first saw you… well, you know.’

Alexander nods quickly, grateful that Lafayette seems averse to any graphic descriptions.

‘I’m going to say something to you, Alexander. And when I do, please do not reply. Please do not ask me any questions. Make no comments or speculations. Just let it sit between us and stay between us.’

‘You have me curious, Gilbert,’ says Alexander, tilting his head and frowning as he observes his friend. ‘But I promise.’

Lafayette takes a deep breath, his eyes darting once more to Alexander. ‘The reason for my anger is not disgust, as you well know. It is out of concern – these things can be very dangerous, and I don’t wish to see either of you suffer for your carelessness.’

‘I know that, Gil,’ says Alexander, but Lafayette shushes him with a firm shake of his head.

‘The thing is, Alexander, I may be more acquainted with the risks and dangers of such things than you may imagine. I only tell you this to ease your mind and to offer some comfort and solidarity, but please do not make me say any more.’

Alexander’s mouth falls open at the quasi-confession. A million questions form in his mind, but he pushes them away. He will respect Lafayette’s request that he stays silent on the issue but _God_ how his mind races.

‘Now I have shocked _you_ irreparably,’ says Lafayette with a small smile. ‘I only confess to such things as I know what it is to worry about the trustworthiness of another.’

‘Thank you,’ whispers Alexander, mouth dry. It has truly been an evening of remarkable events and he is suddenly exhausted to the bone. What he wouldn’t give to curl up in his bedroll, John’s arms around him…

Lafayette stays with him a while longer, both of them lost deep in thought. It is only when Alexander finds that he has fallen asleep where he sits, almost tilting sideways into Lafayette’s lap, do they bid each other farewell.

Taking advantage of his sleepiness, Alexander slips fully-clothed beneath the blankets, trying not to think about the absence of any bodily warmth beside him. It is already late and he cannot afford to be suffering from exhaustion on top of everything else that is plaguing him at the moment.

***

Peacock rubs her face unceremoniously against Alexander’s coat as he greets her with a pat on the neck. Horse snot is an unglamorous look for a soldier, but he finds he does not mind too much when he has so much else to think about.

There is no sign of John, although his horse stands saddled and ready for him. Unsure whether to wait or whether to set off alone, Alexander dawdles somewhat in mounting, checking the tack and hooves of his horse several times over. He cannot stop thinking about what Lafayette confessed – or almost confessed – the night previous. Perhaps if John had known…

A noise behind him startles him out of his reverie. John stands behind him, his expression cold, dark circles under his eyes as though he has not slept a wink.

‘Good morning,’ says Alexander, trying to keep his tone upbeat, but he hears his voice wobble.

John nods curtly, sliding a hand under his horse’s girth to check its tightness before swinging himself up and over the saddle with admirable agility. Alexander follows suit – he is an equally accomplished horseman, and he makes sure he slots quickly into place behind John on the well-trodden path out of camp.

They make no effort to converse over the first few miles and Alexander occupies himself with fussing over Peacock, ruffling her mane and patting her warm neck. It keeps his mind off the thickening of the trees as they approach the place that has occupied his thoughts night and day for the past week or so. He does not want to look around in case he sees any evidence of what happened here, but his eyes dart back and forth regardless, seeking out a splash of red or trail of broken branches.

After a few more minutes, he has fallen silent, no longer maintaining his monologue to Peacock. His hands shake as he grips the reigns with unnecessary tightness, that roaring sound returning to his ears. To his shame, he feels thick, hot tears slide down his face, collecting on his chin before dripping down onto the saddle.

He turns his face away as John manoeuvres his horse round to fall into step beside him. To his surprise, he feels fingers around his wrist – a light brush of a thumb against his pulse point.

‘John…’

‘No, don’t say anything,’ interrupts John with a determined shake of his head. ‘I can’t bear to see you suffer like this, but it doesn’t mean anything has changed.’

‘Can’t we at least talk about it?’ Alexander is ashamed to hear the note of pleading in his voice.

John looks at him with pity and Alexander feels like he might vomit. He does not want to be pitied. And he does not want to be walking through this forest where he might trip over the evidence of his darker side at any moment. He screws his hands into fists, digging fingernails into his palm until he feels a distracting sting.

‘There is nothing to talk about,’ says John at last, removing his hand from around Alexander’s wrist. ‘I care about you too much to let my disgusting… desires… get us both into such trouble.’

‘They’re not just _your_ desires,’ protests Alexander. ‘I am as guilty as you in this.’

‘And it is better that way, is it? Is it better that we shall both hang if Lafayette cannot keep his mouth shut? Better that we are both guilty?’

Alexander has never heard such fury in John’s voice before. Normally so mild-mannered, John rarely speaks with such passion on any subject – emotive discourse is more Alexander’s domain.

‘Of course it’s better,’ replies Alexander, trying to match John’s vehemence. ‘You make me feel alive, John. I had not realised that I could feel for another the way I feel for you. It shocks me, it disgusts me. I cannot explain it. But I cannot let it go.’

‘You should, for your own sake.’

Before Alexander can respond, he is thrown up Peacock’s neck as she spooks at something that has caught her eye somewhere up ahead. She hops on the spot with a snort, trying to spin this way and that as Alexander clings on, trying to push himself back into the saddle.

‘Are you alright?’ asks John as he finally succeeds in regaining his rightful place in the saddle, recovering both stirrups. Peacock’s head remains high, her ear pricked forward, but she no longer seems to sense an immediate threat.

‘Yes,’ replies Alexander, scanning the forest around him for any sign of what may have startled his horse. He dreads catching a glimpse of rotting red coat, but fortunately there is nothing to be seen. ‘It must have been a bird or something.’

The act of soothing Peacock also helps Alexander to calm down somewhat. Whispering reassurances to her and patting her solid shoulder work to soothe him too. Soon, they are clear of the thickest part of the forest and Alexander is sure he did not reach this far with Washington. He can feel the tension seep from his muscles as the trees thin and the landscape flattens out. It leaves him shaky but grateful.

‘Alex…’ At first, Alexander is not sure that John has even spoken, so quiet is his voice. But he sees his friend’s eyes dart towards him, uncertain and fearful as they try to catch his attention. ‘Did you mean what you said earlier?’

‘Which bit?’ says Alexander. He meant everything he said to John, but he is curious as to which of his words might have finally weakened his resolve.

‘That I make you feel alive? That you could not feel for another the way you do for me?’

Alexander flushes at the strength of those words. They are, of course, true. But he cannot believe he actually said them out loud.

‘Yes,’ he says, turning to meet John’s gaze. ‘I did mean it. And I’m sorry if it offends you.’

‘It does not offend me,’ replies John, fiddling with a loose thread on his cuff. ‘But we’ve kind of crept into this, Alex. We have never stopped and thought about where it’s leading to.’

‘Do we need to?’ asks Alexander, standing for a second in his stirrups to relieve a cramping calf muscle. That he has not ridden long-distance in quite some time is painfully obvious in his stiffening limbs. ‘Some things are best left unexamined.’

They look at each other for a long moment as though either could read the solution across the other’s features. John worries at his bottom lip with milk-white teeth, wrapping the loose thread on his jacket around his fingers several times.

‘You’ll ruin your coat,’ scolds Alexander, swatting at John’s hand. ‘And we have no means of fixing it until we get back to camp.’

‘And how long do you intend to be away from camp?’ asks John, raising an eyebrow. A spark of mischief flashes briefly across John’s expression, igniting a hopeful feeling deep in Alexander’s gut. Perhaps John has not meant it, but a sultry note has crept into John’s tone. Alexander feels the heat rise to his face, creeping up his neck and colouring his cheeks. ‘My, how you blush!’

Alexander scowls, turning his face away. He hates that he flusters so easily. ‘I only meant that you might be riding back with an unravelled sleeve come the morning.’

‘I know, dear boy,’ laughs John, drawing his horse closer so he can hook his arm through Alexander’s. It’s a bit of a stretch, but it’s the most contact they’ve had since last night and it makes Alexander’s blood sing. ‘I was trying to lighten the mood. Offer an olive branch.’

‘An olive branch?’ repeats Alexander.

‘I don’t see the point in being angry with one another all day, although I have to admit that was my intention when we set out.’

‘That’s good to know,’ huffs Alexander. ‘But olive branch accepted. Only on the condition that this is not the last of this conversation.’

John’s expression sobers, but he nods. His arm is still hooked through Alexander’s and there it remains for much of the rest of the journey. It is not the most comfortable arrangement, but Alexander accepts the awkward position with gratitude. They walk on mostly in silence, talking only now and again to admire the changing landscape or praise the warmth of the midday sun. The nervousness that had consumed Alexander so completely that morning has all but disappeared and even he begins to enjoy the ride.


	9. Chapter 9

Alexander’s legs have properly stiffened, the inside of his thighs chafed from hours of riding. He shifts uncomfortably, trying to move his weight from the sore points but just causing himself more pain.

‘We must be nearly there?’ he grumbles, noticing that John is stretching his heels down in his stirrups, grimacing as his knees pop and crack in protest.

‘What’s that up ahead?’ says John, shielding his eyes against the sun, which is starting to sink lower in the sky. Alexander squints and spots the outline of a building – not large enough to be what they’re looking for, but after hours and hours of nothing but forests and fields, it is a happy sight.

They approach cautiously, straining their eyes and ears for any threat that might linger nearby. There is moss growing heavily on the stone walls of the structure and the wooden door is half rotten, sitting slack on its hinges. It looks like an old farmhouse, although any signs of farm life have long since vanished.

John dismounts, staggering on his stiff legs and numb feet as he lands with a groan. He passes the reigns of his horse to Alexander, who takes them with a trembling hand.

John creeps towards the door, hand on his pistol, listening after every few steps for any sign of life from within the building. Once he is close enough, he gives the door a firm kick, forcing it to swing back on its hinges, far enough to let him see into building. Alexander is frozen in place, watching John move with a mixture of admiration and terror.

‘It’s clear,’ calls John over his shoulder, his posture straightening as he inspects the interior of the building from the doorway. ‘Actually, it’s in much better condition inside.’

Alexander forces himself into action, dismounting as ungracefully as John and earning a disapproving look from Peacock as he lets out a string of imaginative curses at the stinging that jolts up his legs on impact. Her disapproval doesn’t last long however as she spots the overgrown grass surrounding the farmhouse. Alexander chuckles, tying both horses with enough slack on the rope to allow them to graze freely.

‘Do you think we could rest here for the night?’ asks Alexander, joining John in the entrance to the farmhouse. ‘I’m not sure I can face getting back in the saddle.’

‘Nor can I,’ says John with a grimace. ‘It looks fine to me. Not the most luxurious but better than any alternative.’

Alexander shudders at the thought of having to spend the night out under the stars. The little farmhouse is basic but at least warm, dry and sheltered. There is an old fireplace at the back of the main room that could be brought to life easily enough and the floor is covered in a dusting of old straw that has miraculously stayed dry. It should be comfortable enough to sleep on and he is sure that he will rest much better here than outside.

***

Almost an hour later and they are both sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the fireplace. John had collected an armful of firewood while Alexander had fetched their saddlebags in, trying to make their makeshift home for the night as comfortable as possible. It is cosy by the fire now that darkness has settled proper, and Alexander is grateful that things seem almost normal between the two of them again.

‘Do you think we’re lost?’ asks John, plucking at a piece of straw.

‘I think we’ve taken a wrong path somewhere,’ replies Alexander. ‘We’ve ridden for far longer than we should have, even accounting for some minor miscalculations.’

‘And it’s going to take us just as long to get back,’ says John with a groan, stretching his legs out in front of him.

‘This is the second time I’ve failed on this mission,’ says Alexander. ‘What is so hard about finding a nearby building?’

John laughs at Alexander’s exasperated tone, earning a soft punch to the bicep. He raises an eyebrow, pretending to rub at the spot where Alexander’s fist made contact with muscle. ‘I would be careful, dear boy. Don’t mix ability with ambition.’

Alexander recognises an alluring playfulness in John’s voice and he feels his eyes widen and his cheeks flush once more. A smirk is playing around John’s lips as he watches Alexander squirm beneath his gaze, no doubt thrilled at how easily he can fluster his friend.

‘Don’t you owe me a conversation?’ Alexander manages to say, holding eye contact with John despite the desperate urge to look _absolutely anywhere else_. His heart sinks as John’s expression sobers, the playful glint in his eye replaced by a flash of seriousness.

‘I suppose I do,’ says John, the hand that was rubbing his arm falling back onto his lap. ‘Well, I think I owe you an apology.’

‘What for?’ asks Alexander, wrapping his arms around his knees.

‘For behaving like an idiot,’ says John, ducking his head as though in shame. ‘I got scared… I _am_ scared.’

‘I’m scared too,’ admits Alexander.

‘I thought I knew what I was doing. But when Lafayette walked in, it all became _real_. Before then, it had just been a thing we were doing and it was nice. But once we had been caught, it became a decision we had made.’

Alexander nods. It makes sense.

John continues, his hands back in the straw now, plucking with a renewed vigour. ‘I have been incredibly selfish and now I don’t know what to do.’

‘What do you _want_ to do?’ asks Alexander. His voice is thick with emotion at John’s words, and he finds he does not wear his role in this discussion comfortably. He is used to being the one in need of John’s support, guidance and comfort. He is not quite sure of the boundaries now.

John’s eyes darken at his words, tongue darting out to moisten his lips. ‘That’s the easy question.’

‘And what’s the difficult question?’

‘What _should_ we do?’ replies John. His expression betrays a hunger that he cannot mask so easily behind sensible words, making Alexander’s pulse thrum with anticipation. He can’t help but wonder how things might be made easier were John aware of Lafayette’s own situation. But no, he will not sink to using Lafayette in that way.

Instead, he shrugs in response, throwing the ball well and truly back in John’s court. No matter how much he wants _something_ to happen, it needs to come from John. And perhaps unsurprisingly, he does not have long to wait.

There are no witnesses to interrupt, no fear of discovery at the slightest noise as John moves towards him, pushing him roughly down into the straw. John’s eyes are ablaze, and it sends a jolt of fire straight into the pit of Alexander’s stomach. John covers him, propping himself up on his elbows to gaze questioningly into Alexander’s eyes, the rest of his weight bearing down across his Alexander’s stomach and thighs.

Alexander gives a minute nod, then the space between them vanishes entirely. Messy kisses, greedy hands, desperate noises – that is all there is now in this small, poorly furnished farmhouse out in the middle of the wrong path.

‘I’m so, so sorry,’ mutters John in between the frantic kisses he is pressing to Alexander’s mouth. Alexander can only whine in response, letting his eyes flutter shut as he feels John’s hand scrabbling for the bottom of his shirt. ‘Can I?’

Alexander nods again, arching his back so John can help him wriggle out of the offending fabric. The air is cool on his skin, but before he can think too much about it, the warm, solid weight of John is back on top of him, breath caressing the sensitive skin on his neck. He can’t help but tilt his head to the side, exposing more vulnerable flesh to John’s mouth. He almost sobs with a mixture of pleasure and relief as he feels John teeth nip – enough to bruise – the skin between his neck and shoulder. It’s an exquisite pain and he already knows how he will treasure that tender spot come the morning.

Alexander realises that John is still fully-clothed in his shirt and breeches – far too much fabric between them. He reaches down between them and tugs inquiringly on the cotton of John’s shirt, lifting the white fabric so it exposes taut muscle. John’s hands cover his, their eyes meeting as he guides the shirt over his head and throws it unceremoniously behind him.

Alexander stares up at him, mesmerised by the sight of him illuminated by the glow of the fire. The light reflects off his skin, giving him an ethereal appearance as he pauses for breath. There is a sheen of sweat covering his chest and shoulders and Alexander can’t help but reach up to touch, thrilling at the way John’s eyes darken at the sensation of his fingertips.

‘I am so sorry,’ John repeats, his voice low and gravelly. ‘I don’t know how I could have stayed away…’

He trails off as Alexander presses a finger to his lips. He does not want to think about anything beyond this room. He does not want to think about the past, nor the future for that matter. He just needs the present. He feels impossibly safe, pinned beneath John, the subject of all the tender affections he can muster.

‘Stop me whenever you need to,’ whispers John, lowering himself back onto his elbows and stealing a kiss. ‘We don’t need to rush.’


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait for this chapter - I hope I'm forgiven. The world is a bit tough at the moment and writing is a bit of a struggle. This chapter has been written for a little while but I just didn't dare to post it. All of your lovely comments and kudos have pushed me to keep going though, so thank you!  
> Hope you're all keeping well and enjoy this update :)

When dawn breaks, Alexander lies back contented, watching specks of dust dance in the watery rays of light streaming into the farmhouse. A spark of heat flashes through him as he realises that in their exhaustion, they have barely moved since their activities late last night. John still lies half-draped across him, his head buried in the space between neck and shoulder. He snores gently and rhythmically, and Alexander reverently catalogues the sight, the sound and the feeling of this most intimate embrace – the heat of John’s skin against his, the slow and steady rumble of John’s sleepy breathing and the restless thrum of his own pulse.

The sun climbs a little higher, and Alexander realises this is probably the longest he has slept in many months. Years perhaps. He lifts a hand to brush through John’s hair, earning a gratified snuffle that makes his heart flutter.

‘Morning,’ he whispers, pressing his nose into soft hair, inhaling the scent of outdoors and sunshine that is so exquisitely John.

‘You’re still here,’ mumbles John. The vibrations as he speaks travel up Alexander’s neck, bringing goose pimples to his skin and causing him to shudder in delight. ‘I thought you might have magicked some paper and a desk out of somewhere and commenced work.’

‘Alas, my resourcefulness appears to be lacking,’ replies Alexander. He wishes he could paint a picture as John tilts his head to look up at him. His skin looks radiant in the morning light, although his lips are still red and swollen as if to belie the angelic sight he otherwise makes.

He does not want to broach the subject of their journey back to camp – they must turn around before they get more hopelessly lost than they already are – but anxiety is already setting in. He worries at his lower lip, tugging and licking at a piece of dry skin that hangs temptingly.

‘We must return today,’ he says, wiping sleep from the corner of John’s eye with the pad of his thumb. ‘As much as I would like to stay here forever…’

‘Wouldn’t that be nice?’ sighs John, burying his head once more into Alexander’s neck. ‘Imagine. We could wake up here every day. We could hunt in the forest, and I daresay given enough time and tools we could make this place very comfortable indeed.’

Alexander grins, the bare farmhouse around him suddenly transformed into a picturesque little cottage. He sees a big bed with warm, luxurious blankets.

A fire would always be roaring – he hates the cold – and he imagines they could somehow craft a desk where he could spend his days writing with only John to distract him. And what a worthy distraction John would be…

‘Nothing would please me more,’ he replies, kissing the top of John’s head in a rush of affection at the imaginings of a happiness they will never have. ‘But, my dear fellow, the real world beckons. We have a war to fight and the first step is to get ourselves back to camp and report our incompetence to the general.’

‘I like my idea better,’ grumbles John, tracing a pattern languidly up and down Alexander’s side. ‘Must the real world be answered right away?’

‘I’m afraid so,’ says Alexander. ‘Unless you can think of anything more urgent?’

He should regret his playfulness as soon as the words leave his mouth. But then again, how much regret can one have when the result is the wicked grin that flashes across John’s face as he moves onto his elbows, his eyes as dark as the midnight sky?

‘You are…’ Alexander doesn’t finish his sentence before his mouth is otherwise occupied by John’s lips.

***

‘You got lost?’ repeats Washington and Alexander does not like the quirk of interest in his eyebrow as he summarises Alexander’s version of events. He does not sound angry, but rather suspiciously amused.

‘In a nutshell,’ replies Alexander.

‘Well, I’m glad you’re safe, my boy,’ Washington says, sitting back in his chair. ‘But this does not fulfil our mission.’

‘Sorry, sir,’ say Alexander and John in unison, heads bowed.

Washington waves a dismissive hand and Alexander is confused. It is almost as if the general is refusing to be annoyed out of stubbornness. But then…

‘Lafayette,’ says Washington, turning to the Frenchman who had already been in Washington’s office when John and Alexander had arrived. ‘Perhaps we two could make an attempt at finishing this business?’

‘Indeed sir, if you should so wish,’ replies Lafayette, stepping forward to join Alexander and John in front of Washington’s desk.

‘I do not wish to subject Alexander to another ride through the forest if I can help it. And Mr Laurens does not appear to have the most reliable inner compass.’

They all chuckle as John scowls at that remark.

‘Shall I inform the stableboys we are to ride out in the morning?’ asks Lafayette, and Alexander notices his voice sounds strange. It is almost as though he is trying too hard to sound casual.

‘Yes, that would be a good idea,’ says Washington, picking up his quill as though to resume working. But Alexander notices the hints of a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, his eyes sparkling. ‘And if we also fail to find this place, I’m sure we will spend an equally pleasant evening in that old farmhouse Alexander spoke so eloquently of.’

Alexander blushes furiously - Washington’s tone is thick with a mock innocence that makes his words sound crass. But to Alexander’s surprise, he notices the colour rise in Lafayette’s cheeks also. Washington allows himself a victorious grin before dipping his quill in the inkpot and resuming his writing with a satisfied flourish.

‘Are we dismissed, sir?’ ventures John.

‘Yes, Mr Laurens,’ replies Washington, barely looking up from his work. ‘And thank you for taking care of Alexander so splendidly on your travels.’

Alexander feels his face heat by another few degrees, if that were at all possible. He and Lafayette both scramble for the door, practically falling over each other in the process.

‘What on earth is the matter with you two?’ gasps John as they tumble out of headquarters and into the fresh evening air, which is cool relief on their heated skin. Alexander’s ears feel positively aglow.

‘Washington?’ splutters Alexander, turning to face Lafayette in shock.

‘Not now,’ hisses Lafayette, grabbing Alexander and pulling him close so he can whisper in his ear. ‘Tonight. I’ll come and see you tonight.’

‘What…?’ interrupts John, but Lafayette shushes him firmly.

‘Tonight,’ he repeats. ‘And I would appreciate it if you leave it to me to tell my side of the story.’ This last bit is directed at Alexander. A clear instruction not to start speculating.

As Lafayette marches off into the distance, John looks to Alexander, eyes wide.

‘Is this what I think it is?’

But Alexander shakes his head – an indication that he is not to be pushed on the matter. While John is everything in the world to him, he feels Lafayette’s secret too keenly. They will both wait until their friend can clear everything up for himself.

***

It is fully dark when they finally hear a rustling outside of their tent. Lafayette stumbles in moments later, his hair unusually dishevelled and the strong smell of alcohol emanating from his breath.

Alexander steadies him with a hand to the elbow and guides him to sit down.

‘You were never meant to find out like this,’ says Lafayette, his eyes flitting between John and Alexander.

‘Find out what?’ says Alexander. With great effort, he has refrained from jumping to any conclusions about the clues he witnessed earlier that evening. It is only fair that the other man should have the chance to lay things out as he wants them to be understood.

‘Don’t pretend,’ says Lafayette, his eyes flashing dangerously. John watches on, mouth agape.

‘If I understand correctly,’ replies Alexander, ‘then it was unfair of Washington to make it so explicit in front of John and I.’

Lafayette shakes his head. ‘He doesn’t know how much _you_ know.’

‘To be fair, I don’t understand anything that is happening,’ John chimes in.

Alexander nods in comprehension. Had he not known something of what Lafayette keeps hidden in the depths of his soul, he would not have been alerted by Washington’s cryptic comments – innocent enough to a casual bystander, as demonstrated by John.

‘So, you and Washington…?’

‘Do not say it aloud!’ hisses Lafayette, burying his head in his hands. ‘It sounds so disgraceful when you put it into words like that.’

‘Am I following this correctly?’ asks John, his eyes wide in shock.

‘Probably,’ says Alexander, placing a reassuring arm on John’s forearm. ‘Gilbert, you offered me comfort when I was in the exact same position not two nights ago.’

‘Yes,’ replies Lafayette, holding Alexander’s gaze. ‘But it’s not quite the same, is it?’

‘How so?’

‘John is not your commanding officer.’

Alexander sucks in a breath. He had not thought of it in those terms.

‘And you _want_ to…?’ begins John tentatively, finally on the same page.

‘Yes,’ says Lafayette quickly.

‘Then perhaps it is not so different,’ says Alexander with a shrug. ‘If you truly believe that the disparity in your ranks plays no part in it…’

‘I seduced _him_ ,’ says Lafayette with a defiant tilt of his chin and a look of misery in his eyes. ‘It wasn’t easy. I’ve never seen Washington afraid of anything before. But he was truly scared at first. Now I’m starting to think that he was right.’

Alexander risks a glance at John, afraid that the whole incident has reignited the fear and repulsion that seem to surface so easily in him. But John’s face is full of soft kindness.

‘And perhaps he was,’ says John gently. ‘He certainly wasn’t wrong, anyway.’

‘How quick you are to change your mind,’ replies Lafayette, narrowing his eyes. ‘It were a mere few days ago you stormed from this very tent…’

‘Gil, enough,’ interrupts Alexander, noticing the expression of hurt flicker across John’s face. While Lafayette seems lucid enough, the smell of alcohol still lingers, and Alexander knows how incautious he can be after a drink or two. ‘Perhaps you should get some sleep. There’s no harm done.’

Lafayette laughs coldly. ‘No harm done? I have seduced my commanding officer. I have done unspeakable things and then _spoken_ of what I have done.’

‘It’s ok,’ soothes Alexander, placing a hand on Lafayette’s shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. ‘You didn’t judge us, so why do you judge yourself so cruelly?’

Lafayette doesn’t respond – he just stares miserably at the grubby canvas of the tent, picking at the skin on his thumb. Alexander covers Lafayette’s hand with his, stopping the repetitive picking that has drawn blood. Silence hangs heavy between the three men and Alexander slowly becomes aware that John is shaking beside him.

‘John?’

John shakes his head, clambering to his feet.

‘I think I need some air,’ he mutters.

‘I repulse even _you,_ ’ mutters Lafayette, glaring up at John. He pulls his hand sharply from Alexander’s grasp.

‘That’s not true,’ says Alexander, gesturing for John to sit back down. John does not sit, but nor does he slip out from the slit in the canvas as Alexander fears he would. ‘Gil, we’re all afraid. We’re all confused.’

‘Then we should keep quiet on such despicable matters, lest we upset ourselves,’ replies Lafayette. ‘I have said far too much for one evening.’

Lafayette’s voice is firm and steady, but Alexander can see tears glistening in his friend’s eyes. He glances once more at John who is standing helplessly in the middle of the tent. He does not know how it has come to this. How he is now the one holding everything together while John and Lafayette fall apart.

He pushes himself onto his knees and shuffles closer to Lafayette, wrapping his arms slowly and carefully around his friend. He waits for his friend to push him away, but instead Lafayette collapses against him with a sob.

Alexander holds him close, whispering promises and reassurances, mimicking the comfort that John has offered to him on several occasions. It occurs to him that he does not _really_ know how to do this. He has fended for himself for so long. But he is slowly learning, and it feels good to be of some use.

He feels a hand on his shoulder – a quick squeeze of John’s strong hand. It tells him a thousand things that he needs to know right now. He is doing this right – he is doing all he can. Whether it is enough is anybody’s guess, but he clings on to John’s approval as he wraps his arms tighter around the trembling Lafayette.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry this took so long to update. I didn't mean to leave it this long but the state of the world and lots of other things mean I've had very little time and motivation to write. I promise that the next update will be much quicker!

_‘I can’t…’ whispers Washington against Lafayette’s mouth, closing his eyes. He makes no effort to extract himself from beneath Lafayette’s hands, shuddering at the feather-soft strokes of the Frenchman’s fingers against his skin. They are lying on the grass by the river, the peaceful sounds of summertime in the wilderness filling the air. They won’t be missed from camp for a few hours yet, and Lafayette does not want to waste this perfect opportunity._

_‘You can,’ he replies, letting his breath ghost across Washington’s lips. He nips gently, thrilling at Washington’s sharp inhale, feeling fire twist low in his gut as Washington returns the gesture._

_‘I am your commanding officer,’ breathes Washington, every word punctuated by a kiss so it feels more like he is staking a claim than raising an objection._

_Lafayette does not say anything in response. He lets his hand slip up beneath Washington’s jacket, tugging at the fabric there until he finds bare skin. And that is the moment of no return._

_Washington’s eyes flash at the contact of skin on skin. He nips hard at Lafayette’s lip – so hard Lafayette wonders that he does not draw blood. With a rumbling growl, Washington pushes back, changing their positions so he is now in control. One broad palm pins Lafayette down, tantalising pressure resting firm over the hammering of his own heartbeat. The other twists itself possessively into his hair, pulling until he exposes the vulnerable flesh of his throat. He closes his eyes, giving himself over entirely to whatever Washington has in mind. He has won, and Washington’s will is his prize._

Lafayette paints the scene with a timid pride. A smile quirks at the corner of his mouth despite himself. Alexander grins, still holding his friend in his arms. As upset as Lafayette may be, the happiness he radiates when he talks of Washington reminds Alexander of the feelings John stirs within him. Nothing unnatural or disgraceful – pure and joyful.

A single glance up at John tells Alexander a thousand things about the confusion and torment going on behind sad eyes. Lafayette has held up a mirror – one that is impossible to be judgemental or fearful of – and that has scared John all the more. He _should_ be repulsed. He _should_ be ashamed. But when he has to look so hard for the ugliness in a story that reflects his own so closely, _he cannot be_.

In this moment, Alexander is painfully aware of his inexperience in comforting anyone else. He thinks of the only role model he ever had – his older brother. He remembers the sharp words and the looks of disdain whenever he come home sad or hungry, looking for a kind word or touch. He remembers being told to grow up when he cried for his mother – any grief or sadness he showed was very quickly humiliated out of him.

But he is not his brother. And John is more important to him than anyone else in the world. He reaches up, taking John’s hand and pulling him down until he can wrap his arms around both John and Lafayette at the same time. With a glimmer of pride, he realises that he is the one holding them together.

‘So, what do we do?’ mutters Lafayette, pressed as he is between Alexander and John.

‘We carry on,’ replies Alexander. It is a simple response but carrying on has never let him down. He feels the warmth of his two friends pressed against him, and despite the fear that stirs low in him, he has never felt less alone.

***

John doesn’t speak once Lafayette has departed so Alexander gives him space. The candle flickers, casting shadow across John’s face, making Alexander want to reach out and smooth his thumb across worried lines. But he refrains, and instead spends a long time untying his own queue and running his fingers through tangled hair.

By the time he is done, John is lying listlessly on his side beneath several blankets, eyes narrowed as he thinks. He doesn’t look up, even as Alexander slides beneath his own blankets.

Alexander is almost asleep when he feels movement nearby. He opens his eyes to the sight of John next to him, the beseeching look in his eyes amplified by the wavering candlelight.

‘Are you alright?’ whispers Alexander, moving automatically to make space.

‘I don’t know,’ replies John. His eyes are glistening as Alexander pulls him into a tight embrace, pressing a tender kiss into feather-soft hair.

‘Do you want to talk about it?’ It seems like a small gesture, but Alexander does not know what else he can offer in this moment.

‘I don’t know what good it would do,’ replies John. Alexander senses a note of defensiveness in his voice. ‘Justifying all of this feels wrong.’

‘All of this? You mean… _us_?’

‘Us, this. _Them_.’

Alexander pulls back, searching John’s face for a clue as to where his thoughts have wandered off to. But all he can see is sadness. And longing.

‘You don’t mean that,’ says Alexander, squeezing John’s shoulder as thought to press some sense into him. ‘I can see it in your eyes. I saw it when Lafayette told his story, and I can see it now. You’ve tried to tell yourself that all of this is wrong because that would be the easy way out, but the evidence to the contrary is piling up.’

He feels John’s fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt as he blinks up at him with a wild look of desperation.

‘It _is_ irrefutably wrong.’

‘Says who?’ replies Alexander, swiping his thumb softly across a burning cheek, wiping away the first tear to fall.

‘I don’t know. People.’

‘Well then,’ whispers Alexander, tracing a lazy pattern on John’s shoulder with his thumb. ‘Aren’t they the ones destined to lead incredibly sad lives?’

‘Perhaps,’ sniffs John. ‘But incredibly uncomplicated ones, free from such sin.’

‘Yes, and free from such wonderment and beauty too. Do you know what an honour it is to hold you in my arms, John Laurens?’

John blinks up at him, mouth slightly agape. ‘Alexander…’

‘I saw your face when Lafayette described how he and Washington fell in love. You found it beautiful. And what’s more, I don’t believe you really do want to have your mind changed about it all. If you did, then you would not have sought refuge in my bed.’

John tries to object, tears falling thick and fast. ‘No, that’s not…’

‘It’s ok,’ soothes Alexander. It has not escaped his notice that John has simply clung harder to him and has not tried to pull away, despite his protests. His knuckles are white where his fingers curl into Alexander’s shirt. ‘Just for tonight, John. Let it all go.’

‘I _can’t_ ,’ whispers John with a frantic shake of his head.

Alexander closes his hand around John’s, trying to gently coax his fingers from his shirt and he feels John supress a tremble. He squeezes tightly, hoping to recreate a feeling of security. ‘You can.’

Their eyes meet and Alexander holds John’s gaze for a long moment, breathing out steadily in the hope that John will mirror him.

‘Better?’ asks Alexander after a few slow rounds of breathing. The tension seems to have dissipated ever so slightly, and the trembling seems to have stilled to being almost imperceptible. He doesn’t move, afraid to break the new calmness that has settled over the tent.

‘I’m sorry,’ mutters John after such a long time that Alexander had started to wonder if he had fallen asleep. ‘I’m supposed to be the strong one.’

Alexander frowns, wiping a loose strand of hair from John’s brow. ‘You’re not supposed to be anything other than John.’

‘I’ve let you down, Alexander. I don’t want you to have to look after me like this. I don’t want to have these struggles and make you doubt. It took us long enough to get _here_.’

‘I don’t mind,’ replies Alexander. ‘Maybe it’s good for me to have someone to care for once in a while. It’s always just been me.’

‘Didn’t you have a brother?’

Alexander nods, turning his face away. John knows more about his past than anyone else, but not the whole story. It’s a subject he avoids as much as he can as it fills him with a dangerous anger that he’d rather keep from the surface if he can.

‘It’s ok, we don’t have to talk about it,’ says John quickly, stroking Alexander’s forearm. ‘I just thought…’

‘Don’t worry,’ sighs Alexander with a weary smile. ‘I’m not cross. I just don’t want to think about him right now.’

John looks up him, still dishevelled from his earlier anguish. His cheeks are blotchy, his eyes red and raw, and Alexander is overwhelmed by the sudden urge to kiss him. John’s gaze darkens, almost as if he is sensing what Alexander needs. His lips are parted in invitation and with a movement that is part question, part suggestion, he moves himself closer, awaiting permission.

John’s breath ghosts across his lips for the briefest of moments. And then it is done. Alexander wonders how they can combine such care and gentleness with the desperation and urgency they both clearly feel, but it is a heavenly line that they both manage to walk so well.


End file.
